


Dead Girl Walking

by just_another_classic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-04-11 12:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19109881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_classic/pseuds/just_another_classic
Summary: Abandoned by the CIA on a mission gone awry, Sharon Carter is only alive because of the Snap. Now free, Sharon must navigate what it means to be alive in a world plunged into darkness...and also what her presence means to those who thought she was gone. (Endgame AU)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay lads. Here we go. Because I wholeheartedly reject the ending to Endgame, and am Sharon Carter trash, here's a story that's been jumping around my head. This story was, in part, inspired by the comics story explaining Sharon's "death". As such, expect some allusions to darkness.
> 
> Chapters will be posted weekly!

Sharon Carter has a gun to her head when it happens.

One moment, she believes she is about to die. The next, she watches in horror and grim satisfaction as the men in front of her turn to ash. It is horrific. It is her salvation.

For the past year, she’s been abandoned by the CIA, held in a camp in Tunisia by a terrorist cell. She’s come to realize that when the CIA offered her a chance to come back, it was a suicide mission. They hadn’t expected her to live. 

She does.

 

-/-

 

She escapes the camp relatively unscathed. In the aftermath of whatever happened, chaos had taken over. She’s not as strong as she used to be, but she’s still a spy and allows the confusion to serve as her shield. 

Sharon finds a truck running, its cabin covered in ash. She steals it, then drives and drives and drives as far as she could go. She’s not sure of the direction, is barely sure of where she is, but she wants to be anywhere but where she had been. She knows she needs food — she would kill for a cheeseburger right about now — and she should probably find a hospital. Sharon wonders if the US embassy would even take her. 

It’s only after the adrenaline wears off that she begins to wonder just what caused the men who captured her to turn to ash. It’s unlike anything she’s seen before. Whatever happened had affected not just her camp, but elsewhere. She passes empty cars along the road. She finds an empty shop, the floors dusted with ash, and steals bags of food.

It’s like a horror movie.

Sharon hates horror movies.

 

-/-

 

It’s only when she gets to Tunis that she learns a bit more about what happened, and even then there’s no concrete answer.

What she does learn is that people and animals across the planet have disappeared. The Avengers had been involved, no surprise. Another alien ship had appeared over New York, taking Tony Stark with them. Some battle occurred in Africa. Then everyone disappeared.

She makes attempts to contact her family in Virginia, but there’s no answer. She leaves a message saying she’s alive, tells them where she is, but leaves no option for how to contact her. She’s wonders, briefly, if they had already thought her dead. Would her arrival be akin to them seeing a ghost?

Even with her family’s status remaining uncertain, Sharon doesn’t immediately attempt to get back in the states. There’s so much chaos in Tunis, so many people in need of help, and even if she wanted to leave it all behind, she can’t. Planes have crashed all over the world. Airline staff, air traffic control, and immigration are all understaffed and lost.

So, Sharon stays and she helps. 

 

-/-

 

A month passes before she returns to the States. Immigration is a still a mess, and she’s able to pass through without anyone questioning her identity. Sharon wonders if the CIA is aware their disgraced agent is alive. 

First she goes to Virginia, and all she finds is an empty home and ashes. Due to her work, she had become estranged from a fair number of her family, but the loss hurts all the same. She breaks down and cries in her living room, wrapping herself in the quilt her mother made. 

Once she composes herself, she charts a path to New York, specifically the Avengers compound. She had read that Tony Stark had mysteriously returned from space, watched clips on the news of the remaining heroes attempting to aid in the crisis.

She wants to know what went wrong. She wants to do something, anything, but sit around and wait.

 

-/-

 

She’s at the gate for an extended period of time before she hears the buzz that lets her enter the grounds. This is the first time she has ever visited the compound. She’s heard stories, some from Natasha and others from Steve, that painted a picture in her mind. The reality is different. It feels colder somehow. 

Natasha is the one who greets her. The Black Widow assesses her carefully. “I heard you died on a mission with the CIA.”

So that’s why no one came to find her. She  _ had _ been reported deceased. It stings a bit that Natasha believed it, however. 

“Reports of my demise are greatly exaggerated,” she jokes. Sobering, she follows it up with the truth, “I was held prisoner with a terrorist cell in Tunisia. I escaped a few weeks ago.”  _ Thanks to the Snap, _ remains unstated.

Natasha is quiet for a few moments more. Then, she surprises Sharon by pulling her into a hug. Sharon sinks into it, but they say nothing more. The contact is enough. 

 

-/-

 

Faces flash on screen in the compound. Natasha doesn’t have to explain for Sharon to understand what they represent— the lost. She briefly wonders if her name had been on the missing list before remembering that everyone had already believed her to be dead. 

Over mugs of tea, Natasha explains to her just what she had missed. Sharon learns of Thanos, his mission, and how he had lived and died. She also learns that the stones he had used to commit his genocide have been destroyed.

“So that’s it?” Sharon asks. She thinks of her parents, her cousin Shannon, and the empty store she’d raided in Tunisia. 

“Until we figure out what do next,” Natasha replies, bitter. Sharon has never known her to be one to give up. It’s not in her nature. But, Natasha cannot hide the finality in her tone. There is a part of Sharon that wants to assure Natasha that the Avengers will find a way, that good will prevail in the end, but the past year has taught her that the world doesn’t work that way. The only reason she is alive is because a monster did a heinous action. There’s nothing good in that.

She’s still not sure why she’s the one to live and so many other lives had been lost. When she had arrived to Tunis and stumbled into their hospital, she’d encountered a woman sobbing about the disappearance of her baby. 

“Have you heard any more from Barton?” Sharon asks. Natasha had filled her in on the disappearance of his family. If the roles could be reversed, Clint would take that trade in a heartbeat. At this point, she probably would.

Natasha shakes her head. “Not since the dust settled. He’s gone off the radar.”

“Suicide?” Her question to blunt, but might not be far off the mark. The number of suicides since Thanos’ actions have risen exponentially, those left behind unable or unwilling to handle the trauma of of losing their loved ones— partners, siblings, children. 

“No, of that I’m sure. I’m not willing to rule out that he’s dead, but it would be by someone else’s hand, not his. He might be considering it. I’m pretty sure everyone has, but if he’s going to do it, he’d let one of us know. He wouldn’t want us to wonder.” Natasha’s eyes take a glassy quality. 

“You’re probably right,” Sharon says in response. It’s the best form of comfort at the moment she can muster. 

They sit in silence for awhile. In the background, Sharon can hear a newscaster discuss rebuilding efforts of the US Congress. 

“You should call Steve.”

“What?” The shift in conversation startles her, and Sharon is reminded of a long ago request, of simpler times when Natasha had tried to play matchmaker between her and Captain America. And it had worked, hadn’t it? At least for a little while, until the fight, until she had gone on that last CIA mission, until she had been presumed dead. She wonders if he had mourned her.

“Call him. He could use some good news.”

“I’m not sure if you remember, but we didn’t part on good terms.” They had argued about her role on his Secret Avenger missions. She had believed he was trying to hold her back by not letting her come along. He had said he was trying to keep her safe. Then she'd been contacted by the CIA, and left. 

In her darker moments, she had wondered if he had been proven to be correct. She still doesn’t know the answer.

“I know, but I also know how he reacted when he thought you had died. It wasn’t...it wasn’t good.” Natasha replies. Sharon pulls her gaze away from Natasha, and focuses on her mug. It’s still warm in her hands. She doesn’t want to think of Steve and whatever reaction he might have had to hearing she died. She has too much to worry about, like everyone else who is gone. “We all could use some good news right now about now. I think your reappearance counts as that.”

“I don’t want to be anyone’s hope that this will get better.”

“Then be someone’s hope that things aren’t as bad as they could be.”

“You never struck me as such an optimist.”

“To be honest, optimism is the only way I can get through this.” Spite had been Sharon’s drive, and an unwillingness to let the other guy win. Natasha watches her carefully, and Sharon wonders what she sees. Neither of them are the same women that they had been before. 

Apparently realizing the conversation is going nowhere, Natasha sighs and asks, “Where are you staying?”

“I was hoping the answer would be here.”

 

-/-

  
  


Sharon barely sleeps that night. She lays in a bed that belongs to someone who is now gone, and turns the two years over in her mind. She’s afraid that if she falls asleep, that she will wake up screaming. The compound is quiet, and she is unsure of how noise travels here. 

“Maybe once we figure out this mess with the Accords, I can show you my old place,” Steve had told her, referring the the compound. In the limited time they had spent together, they had mused about all the places they wanted to share with the other were their situations different. An ice cream shop in Brooklyn Steve was fond of, a diner in Tallahassee that made one of the best burgers Sharon had ever tried. 

They hadn’t been incredibly serious, together on a few months and seeing one another only sporadically. Enough to fall into bed a couple of times, enough to share dreams in the dead of night, enough for her to miss him even after their fight and after she’d been caught. 

She thinks she might have been falling in love with him. She’s not sure how she feels about him now.

The first few months in captivity, she had held out hope that he’d come find her. She’s never been the woman to admire damsel in distress stories, but she had been smart enough to realize that the CIA had abandoned her. After awhile, she had started to believe that Steve did too.

She’s not sure what she believes anymore.

Thanks to Natasha, she knows that Steve had been told she died, but her mind is a jumbled mess of trauma. She can’t easily let go of the resentment she built, as much as she wants to.

Just as she she begins to drift away, she hears someone beating against the door. For a moment, she believes she in Tunisia and she feels bile rising in her throat. 

“Sharon? Sharon, are you in there?” 

The familiar timber of Steve Rogers’ voice breaks her out of her haze. Here first thought is  _ he came to save me _ , until she realizes where she is and how much time has passed. Then she curses Natasha, because there is only one way Steve Rogers would be here at this hour. Sharon hadn’t contacted him, was saving that for the new day. Natasha must have reached out the moment Sharon had retired to bed. Maybe earlier. Sharon wants to hate her. She can’t.

Sharon had only been laying in a t-shirt and her underwear, and a part of her thinks that she should fumble around for her jeans, but Steve’s voice is urgent and she’s half convinced that he may break down the door if she waits a moment longer.

“Sharon, plea—“ His voice cuts off when he sees her, eyes trained on her face. When she had first found freedom, she’d had a bruise on her face earned from insubordination. It’s faded since, but she wonders if there’s something about his abilities that allows him to see it, because he reaches up and places a featherlite touch where it had been. However, doesn’t look at her with worry. He looks at her like a man lost in the desert would look at water for the very first time. How she might have looked the moment she realized she had truly escaped from the camp. “You’re alive.”

“It takes a lot more than that to kill me,” she replies, because it sounds strong, because it’s rooted in truth. 

“This isn’t a dream. It’s real this time,” he says, and Sharon wonders who he is trying to assure, him or her. Steve has always worn his heart on his sleeve— he would make a terrible spy—Sharon doubts he realized how much of his hand he just revealed to her. 

“You’ve been dreaming about me, Rogers?” Sharon asks in an attempt to direct away from the seriousness of the conversation.

It works. His cheeks color and he abruptly drops his hand. He takes a step back to allow her more space. She sees the moment when he realizes just what’s she wearing, or whether what she’s not. His cheek turn an even more delightful shade of red, and his eyes dart up at record speed. Once upon a time, she might have found it adorable. Now, she doesn’t know how to feel. 

“Calm down, it’s not like you haven’t seen me in less.” She can still remember, clear as day, the way his palms felt trailing over her skin, the heat of his kiss, and the slick slide of his body sinking into her.

“Yeah, but…” His voice trails off, but Sharon knows what he had intended to say.  _ But that had been before.  _ Before they fought, before she disappeared, before Thanos tore the universe apart. Steve shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re here. You have no idea…”

“Actually, I think I do,” Sharon corrects. It’s a low blow, more than a little mean, but right now she’s feeling too raw to discuss just what happened to her.

“You’re right. You do.” His gaze drips down out of shame and jerks back up once remembers that she isn’t wearing pants. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I feel like I do, for a lot of things.”

“Don’t,” she warns. If he continues, she might cry. She doesn’t want to cry. She honestly doesn’t want to feel anything. “Listen, it’s late and I’m tired. And this is a lot to take in for you. So can we do this when there’s sunlight and we’ve had a full night of sleep?”

Cold. Unfeeling. Not the best way to talk to a man she had might of loved and who might have loved her , but it’s the best she can muster right now. She’s punting, and he knows it, but he thankfully doesn’t press.

“Okay,” he replies. Sharon can tell that he wants to argue, but doesn’t. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

“You need sleep too.”

“You’re still watching out for me.” He’d resented her for that once, though the situations were wildly different. Now he’s wearing a wry smile, even though there is still defeat in his eyes. “We’re neighbors again, you know. My room is down the hall.”

“Back to where it all began.”

“Looks like it.” He ducks his head. “Sleep well, Sharon. I’m glad you’re back.”

He turns from her then, and walks toward his room. Sharon turns back to hers and shuts the door. She doesn’t want to know if he had looked back. She crawls into bed, knowing she won’t sleep for the rest of the night. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha brings Sharon on a mission to Wakanda. Steve throws someone though a wall. Really, this adventure could have gone better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally, I'm going to try to post on Wednesday. However, my birthday is tomorrow, and I'm posting as an early gift to myself! Enjoy!

“I should poison you. Smother you in your sleep.”

Natasha just shrugs impassively from the table where she is sitting. Before taking a sip out of a large mug of coffee, she replies “I’d like to see you try.”

Sharon gets her own mug. Her experience has weaned her off caffeine, but she craves the familiarity of coffee. It means home. Freedom. It takes a few moments to figure out how to make her drink — it is the fanciest coffee machine she has ever seen, and certainly a purchase of Tony’s. Once she has a drink in her hands and has liberated a muffin from the pantry, Sharon settles herself across from Natasha. Nonplussed, the other woman focuses on her tablet, typing out a response.

“You should have let me be the one to tell him.”

“And if I had waited until you got around to doing that, he’d be the one trying to smother me in my sleep for keeping him in the dark so long.” Natasha takes another sip of her coffee. Her gaze still hasn’t left the tablet.

“You and I both know Steve isn’t the type to murder people in their sleep.”

“You’re right, he’s the type to nearly decapitate them with his shield,” Natasha replies. She finally looks up to hold Sharon’s gaze. “But that might just be after he finds out his girlfriend is dead, and he realizes his last moment with her involved a fight.”

“That’s unfair,” Sharon says quietly. Yesterday, hadn’t she wanted to know if he mourned her? But she hadn’t wanted to learn like this. She hadn’t wanted him to act that way.

“Yeah, it was,” Natasha agrees. She at least has the goodwill to look somewhat sympathetic. “For what it’s worth, Sam was able to talk him down.”

“God bless Sam.” She and Sam had gotten along well. Though he had been Steve’s friend first and foremost, he’d taken her under his wing (pun unintended) and made her feel welcome whenever she had come around. “Is he…?”

Natasha’s dark expression is confirmation enough. How many more people will she have to mourn?

“Bucky, too.” Sharon doesn’t miss the flicker of emotion behind Natasha’s eyes. “So I hope you understand a little bit more why I had to tell him. He needs to know not everyone is gone forever.”

Something twists painfully in her chest. “I’m sure he appreciates how much you care.”

“I care about you too. I saved you from agonizing over whether you wanted to talk to him or not. I ripped off the metaphorical band-aid.”

“Uh-huh.” Sharon isn’t sure if she sees it that way, but If that’s what Natasha wants to call it, then fine. She’s doesn’t have it in herself to argue.

Her heart hurts too much.

 

-/-

 

In the afternoon, Natasha informs her that they’re going to Wakanda. They’ll be meeting with what’s left of the Wakanda leadership to discuss how to best utilize the country’s tech in the wake of Thanos’ destruction.

“You want me there for this?”

“You told me earlier you wanted to help,” Natasha replies with a shrug. “Besides, I seem to recall you having a significant amount of diplomatic training.”

“I thought Wakanda was an ally?” She remembers that Wakanda had opened itself a few months she’d been taken prisoner. T’Challa had been on friendly terms with Steve even before that.

“They are. I’m talking about Tony and Steve.”

“Oh.”

Because Sharon had brought a scant amount of clothes with her— just a few things she had acquired in Tunis and Richmond, Natasha lets her borrow some tactical gear.

“Just in case,” her friend explains darkly.

They change in the locker room. Over the years, Sharon has grown unconcerned with changing around others. The Academy desensitized any shame she might have felt. Despite all of that, Sharon pointedly ignores Natasha’s concerned stare as her gaze roves over her fresher scars.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but have you seen a doctor yet?”

“In Tunis,” Sharon answers.

Natasha hums, but says no more.

 

-/-

 

Wakanda is just how she remembers it. Futuristic. Awe-inspiring. Unbearably warm.

Upon landing, they are greeted by the Dora Milaje. During her brief visit her, Sharon had the privilege of sparring with a few of their members. They had thoroughly kicked her ass. Very few people could claim that.

Steve sticks closely to her side as they are led through the palace. He had also sat beside her on the jet. They didn’t talk about the night prior. Instead, they had talked about Tony.

_“He blames me for all of this,” Steve had explained quietly. “Says we should have put a shield around the planet.”_

_“He’s just lashing out. He feels weak, powerless. We all do.” It’s a feeling she had grown accustomed to over the past year. “He’s just doing it in his Tony-like way. Combine that with his resentment over the past few years…You’re the easiest target to blame.”_

_“I hope you’re right.”_

_“I’m always right.”_

_He had smiled at that. “There’s my girl.”_

_She hadn’t known how to respond to that, so she didn’t._

Tony is already present when they arrive. He looks better than he did in earlier press conferences, though it’s clear despite the time that has passed that he has a lot of work left to regain anything close to a healthy weight. _He’s alive, that’s what matters._

Because of how closely Aunt Peggy had worked with Howard Stark, Sharon had grown up believing Tony to be a cousin-sort of figure. He had certainly looked out for her over the years— something she had both appreciated and hated. He’d buy her some of the best birthday gifts (appreciated), but also run extensive background checks on any boy she had made the mistake of mentioning (hated.) Her joining Steve in their little Civil War had been something of a betrayal.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he says the moment he notices her. He pushes himself away from the table at which he had been sitting. “I went to your funeral. Hell, I _paid_ for your funeral. There wasn’t a body. They said it wasn’t recognizable.”

“It’s a long story,” she says. She feels uncomfortable now, all eyes in the room on her. Steve stiffens beside her. “We can talk about it after.”

He doesn’t appear to be listening to her, his attention now turned to Steve. “Is this because of you? Did you fake her death as part of your weird Secret Avenger larp sessions? It’s not enough that you had to harbor the the man who killed my parents, but you had to—“

“Tony!” Sharon has to all but shove herself between both him and Steve. Everyone is staring at them now. Out of the corner of her eye, she can Okoye sighing and shaking her head. “It was a CIA opp. I was taken, left for dead. Steve had nothing to do with this.”

“Except put you in the position where they wouldn’t care if you lived or died.” Steve takes a quick breath behind her. He has been uncharacteristically quiet during Tony’s tirade.

“It was my decision to go.”

“And it is my decision to not want to hear this argument anymore. We have more important stuff to work on,” Natasha intercedes. “You two,” she points between Sharon and Tony, “can have a reunion later.”

“I concur,” Okoye chimes in.

Tony looks like he wants to argue, but relents. Steve remains quiet, his expression a little sad. Sharon takes a seat far away from either of them. Perhaps Natasha had been wrong in bringing her here to play diplomat. She might have made things worse.

 

-/-

 

Later, after everything is sorted, Sharon stands on one of the palace’s many balconies surveying the city. Only now is she able to see the damage it sustained in the battle with Thanos. It’s horrific. She wonders how Steve and Natasha feel being here, if the location is now triggering to them. This is the site of where they failed. It can’t be easy. Then again, what is easy these days? The specter of T’Challa and the other lost souls of Wakanda haunt the halls of the palace. Sharon can see it in the eyes of everyone she meets.

Sharon is about to leave when she hears someone shuffling behind her. She turns to see Tony standing there, looking like a skittish cat. _Serves him right_ , she thinks.

“Okay, let me begin by saying that I recognize you are angry about what happened in there,” he says by way of greeting, “but I do hope you cut me some slack, consinding, you know, I thought you were dead and now suddenly you’re not.”

“Regardless, you had no right yelling at me or Steve like that,” she tells him. She crosses her arms and levels him her best glare. “Would it have been too much to say ‘hi, Sharon, welcome back. Glad you didn’t die while being held captive’? Because you haven’t said that yet.”

Tony at least has the consideration to appear chastened. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you aren’t dead. I cried at your fake funeral. Ask Pepper. She was there.”

“To be honest, I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that there was a funeral,” she answers. Pinpricks of tears sting at the corner of her eyes as she imagines it.

“I’m still trying to wrap my mind that I was stupid enough to not follow up on the whole ‘your body was blown to bits’ thing. I’m usually smarter than that,” he jokes, and Sharon can tell he’s trying to make her feel better. Instead, it only hurts more. She hadn’t been told how she had supposedly died. Her parents had been turned to ash thinking that. “Hey, maybe the assholes who left you behind got dusted. At least something good would have come out of that clusterfuck.”

“Tony!”

“Dark, I know. But gallows humor is a way to get through the biggest failure of your life, huh?” Sharon thinks she should argue. She doesn’t. Hasn’t that been how she’s been coping these past few days? Answering straightforward questions with jokes and refrains. “You have no idea how happy I am see you, Share-Bear.”

Once upon a time, she might have punched Tony in the shoulder, scolding him for referring to her by that infernal nickname. Instead, she surges forward and wraps her arms around him in a tight hug. He stands stunned for a moment before wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tightly. “If this is how you greet me after god knows how long, I don’t want to know how down and dirty you got with Captain Stick in the Mud. Have I mentioned that you terrible taste in men, by the way? Because, really, you could do better. Much.”

“Tony, don’t ruin the moment.”

“Okay, okay.” He stays holding her a moment longer, before pulling away. “I’m getting married.”

“I saw the news reports.” She swipes at her eyes. She is thankfully not wearing makeup of any kind. “I’m glad Pepper...I’m glad she’s okay.” _Not dusted._

“I lucked out in that regard,” he says, his eyes darkening as he thinks over the alternative. He shakes his head. “You should come to the wedding. It’ll be fun. You know I love to throw a good party.”

“Other than bumming around the Avengers compound — which is nice by the way— I have nothing else going on,” she says. She realizes at that moment how empty her life sounds. Her family is gone. She refuses to go anywhere close to whatever is left of the CIA. Her remaining relationships are frayed. She has Natasha as a friend, but the Black Widow has her own loyalties. And there’s Steve, who she absolutely can’t think of right now.

“You could sound more excited.”

“I think I’ve capped my excite-o-meter these past few months,” she replies. Realizing how dark she sounds, she reaches out and squeezes his hand. “I’ll be there.”

“Good. I’ll hold you to it. Just promise me no secret missions between now and then. I don’t want you disappearing again, okay?”

Sharon feels the tears welling up again. “I promise.”

He hugs her again, and she leans into it. Despite everything that’s happened— the war between him and Steve, Thanos— she’s grateful for Tony’s presence. In some ways, he’s an anchor to the past, to the person she was before Nick Fury called her into his office and assigned her to spy on Steve Rogers.

A buzz and a ding interrupts the moment, and they pull away as he fishes his phone from his jacket pocket.

“I guess that’s Pepper making sure her fiance is still in one piece,” Sharon jokes. She expects Tony to joke back, but his brows knit in concern. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going to the infirmary,” he announces, taking her hand and pulling her back into the palace. “According to Natasha, your boyfriend apparently just threw Everett Ross through a door.”

Sharon remembers Everett Ross well. A small man with kind eyes, he had been one of the first people she met when she had first started with the CIA. She had quickly learned that there was more to him than meets the eye, though she had assumed he was someone she could trust. He had been the one to invite her back on a mission with the CIA. It was his request that made her feel comfortable going.

Sharon tells Tony this as they race down to the infirmary. Steve knows all of this, which is why, she presumes, he had attacked the man. It’s a wonder Steve hadn’t killed him. If Sharon had  been the one to see him first, she thinks she might have done actually done so. She doesn’t share this thought with Tony.

Natasha meets them when they arrive at the infirmary. She looks more annoyed than concerned. “That could have gone better.”

“To be honest, I’m a little annoyed Cap didn’t kill the guy. You’d think he’d be better about that,” Tony comments, anger lacing his words. “He’s the one who recruited Share-Bear back into the CIA.”

Natasha quirks her head. “Share-Bear?”

_She will never let me life that nickname down._

“Don’t,” Sharon warns. Her head is beginning to hurt and she feels a little dizzy. How did it get to this point, she wonders, the three of them standing around casually discussing her capture and killing the man who may have orchestrated it. She leans against the wall in order to stop the world from spinning.

“Hey, you okay?” Natasha asks. “Tony—”

“I’m fine,” Sharon lies. “I just haven’t run that fast in quite awhile.”

That part is the truth. She hasn’t, and the jog here had indicated just how out of shape and malnourished she had become over the past year.

“Someone get her some water,” she hears Tony bark.

She hates herself for feeling weak, and for showing weakness to the others. Sharon has always prided herself on her strength, not just physically, but also emotionally. And here she is feeling as if she is going to fall apart because the man who might have had a hand in sending her to her death — because that had been the intention, hadn’t it?— was nearby, and her former boyfriend had almost killed him because of it.

“I’m fine,” she grits out.

“You’re not,” is the last thing she hears before the world turns black.

 

-/-

 

Sharon wakes to find herself in a high-tech room. One wall is completely windows. The sky is now completely black. She looks and sees the stars. They are shockingly visible above the city, and she wonders if the technology here is a contributing factor.

“You’re awake.”

Sharon turns in the direction of the voice, surprised by who she sees. “Nakia.”

“Glad to see you remember me,” the other woman replies. She moves to the chair closest to Sharon’s bed.

“As if I could forget.” The last time the two of them parted had been after the strangest double date Sharon had ever been on. A week ago, Sharon realizes, Nakia and Steve would have been the only two from the night not presumed dead. Now only the T’Challa is gone. “What happened to me?”

“According to your friends, you passed out in the hallway after running down a significant number of steps,” Nakia answers. Her voice is matter-of-fact, no nonsense. “According to medical, you’re both malnourished and exhausted. Not only did you overexert yourself, but combined with recent emotional trauma, your body decided it needed a break.”

“Either you’re both a diplomat and doctor, or HIPPA just isn’t a thing in Wakanda.”

“It isn’t when you have Iron Man and Captain America attempting to break down the doors. And when that wouldn’t work, each other,” Nakia replies. Humor is lacing her tone. Sharon doesn’t find the situation humorous. She doesn’t like being the center of whatever is going on with Tony and Steve, a proxy battle in the middle of their Cold War.

“Where are they now?”

“Elsewhere with Natasha. She would be here, but we both thought she would be served ensuring the two of them don’t kill one another,” she explains. “For two grown men, they certainly act like children at times.”

“I think that’s called being a man,” Sharon replies. She sits up further in the bed. Tony’s always had an immaturity streak, but she doesn’t know what has gotten into Steve. _You. You coming back has done that._ “So why are you here?  I’m not sure I’m up for another ‘let’s stop the human traffickers’ adventure.”

Again, the world’s strangest double date.

“Don’t act like that wasn’t fun.”  Sharon is quickly beginning to remember how much she liked this woman the last time they had met. If things had gone differently, she imagines they could have become friends. _How much has been robbed from me?_

“Fun isn’t exactly the word I would use.”

“What then?”

“Rewarding.” How else could she describe saving victims in the sex trade and sending their captors to prison? She felt like it was the most direct good she had accomplished in a long time.

Sharon remembers how they had returned to the palace together, her emotions high. She’d felt both angry and victorious, restless and ready to take on the world.

_“I like seeing you like this,” Steve had commented, affection evident in his voice._

_“Like what?”_

_“Like you’re unstoppable.”_

_"Oh, I am unstoppable."_

Oh, but she had proven to them and herself how stoppable she could be, hadn’t she? All because she had listened to Everett Ross when he had offered her a second chance. “What about Ross? The last thing I remember was hearing Steve threw him through the door.”

Nakia shrugs. “He’s fine. Keep in mind, healthcare is much better here than elsewhere. He has made a fully recovery, though I imagine that’s not what you want to hear.”

Sharon frowns. She doesn’t know what she wants to hear. The part of her that’s fueled by rage at being left behind wishes he could feel the pain she had over the past year. But the part of her that knows Steve isn’t actually a killer is glad Ross is alive.

“What was he even doing here?”

“He’s been a liaison to Wakanda for the past few years. When he was told that we were discussing Wakanda’s role in the rebuilding efforts, he wanted to be here. Circumstances forced him to arrive late, and that’s when he ran into your Captain.”

“He’s not my Captain,” Sharon replies. Between Tony and now Nakia, Sharon is growing tired of others assuming she and Steve are back together. She’s been broken apart too many times to entertain trying to rebuild whatever they had at the moment. “He hasn’t been for awhile.”

“You should tell him that.” Nakia gives her a level stare. “We didn’t know of Ross’ role in your disappearance. We didn’t even know you were alive, until you arrived.”

“You and the rest of the world,” Sharon murmurs.

“I can’t imagine how hard that must be.” Nakia’s voice is soft when she speaks, compassionate. It reminds Sharon of the tone she had heard her use when they had liberated the women. _She’s talking to me like I am one of them,_ Sharon thinks. _But you are one of them, aren’t you?_

“Can you not talk to me like that?”

“How would you like me to talk?” Nakia replies. Sharon appreciates that the other woman isn’t trying to pretend that she hadn’t been handling her with kid gloves.

“Like you were before. When we were discussing Ross. Like I’m a normal person.” Nakia had been matter-of-fact then. Almost as if she had debriefing Sharon about a mission. That had felt normal, like _before._ “Has he tried to even explain himself? He has to, right? It’s not every day that Captain America throws you through a wall.”

Nakia purses her lips, as if considering Sharon’s request before deciding to move forward. “He says that he didn’t know what they had planned for you. He just knew you were a good agent, and he wanted good agents back.”

“I was a good agent.”

“You certainly were a good freelancer,” Nakia remarks with a fond smile. She then schools her expression into something more serious. “He’s apologetic. He wants to speak with you, if you’re willing.”

“I’m not.” She’s not sure what she would do if she saw that man. She can’t be sure if he’s telling the truth. “Do you believe him?”

“I don’t think what I believe matters.”

“Humor me.”

“Ross has never given me reason to question his motives. He has been not only an ally to Wakanda, but to T’Challa personally. That matters to me. But you and I both know that has no bearing on his relationship with you. You don’t owe him anything. If you don’t want to hear him out, then don’t.”

“Thank you for giving me that choice,” Sharon tells her. It is empowering to hear Nakia talk to her in that way, offering her a choice. It’s a direct contrast to how Natasha hadn’t given her a choice of whether or not to approach Steve. In this situation, Sharon has control.

“In my line of work, I’ve seen far too many women thrown into horrific situations and pulled out only to find themselves lost when they’re back on the other side. Having control of your life is important.” Nakia explains. She looks a touch apologetic. “It’s one of the reasons I’m here. I heard about what happened, and thought you could use someone on your side.”

“Are you implying the others aren’t?”

“The opposite, actually. You have a significant number of people who love you, but they’re inevitably going to let their emotions cloud them, as evidenced by the boorish show earlier today.”

“Which one?” Between Tony’s argument with Steve and Steve later deciding that Everett Ross needed to be better acquainted with the doorframe, the two had certainly caused scenes, all because of her. To call it embarrassing would be an understatement.

“My point exactly. You can tell me to get lost, but just know that if you want it, I can be someone who admires you, but doesn’t consider you a member of the family,” Nakia offers. It might be one of the kindest things Sharon has heard in over a year. God, how starved her life has been.

“Thank you.” It comes out more as a whisper. “I appreciate the support.”

“We need all the help we can get these days.” Sharon had almost, almost forgotten the Snap. How many people had Nakia lost? _And here she is, helping me._

“And with everything, I’m who you decide to focus on?”

“Please, I am an excellent multi-tasker,” Nakia teases with a laugh. She sobers quickly, however. “We all find ways to fill the void, I suppose. After all, isn’t that why you’re in Wakanda? You were free, you didn’t have to join up with the Avengers again. And yet here you are.”

“People like us just can’t stand on the sidelines.” She never could. It was that drive, coupled with Aunt Peggy’s influence, that drove her to join S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s why she took a stand against Rumlow, and why she sided with Steve against Tony. It’s why she went back to the CIA.

“No, we can’t,” Nakia agrees. “Speaking of standing on the sidelines, the others will likely be coming back any minute. Not even the Black Widow can keep Iron Man and Captain America at bay forever.”

“To be honest, I’m surprised they haven’t barged in here yet.” It’s something she knows both Steve and Tony are capable of doing. Sharon both loves and hates that about them.

“Well, I can go and give you a moment of peace before they do.” Nakia makes a move to stand. There’s a small part of Sharon that wants to beg Nakia to stay, if only so she won’t be left alone. It’s the part that is at war with proving she is strong. Right now, her desire for a show of strength is winning out.

Sharon watches her go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to Everett Ross for giving him Nick Fury's role in Sharon's tragedy. We will see more of him in the future. I promise there's more to his role than just the guy who recruited Sharon back into the CIA.
> 
> Next chapter: Steve makes a confession and Natasha takes Sharon shopping.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve makes an ill-timed confession. Natasha takes Sharon shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: this chapter has a reference to Sharon’s assault at the camp. It’s not explicit, but might be a little uncomfortable.

This is how her final few hours in Wakanda go: 

Tony is enthusiastic and brash, trying to make her smile. Natasha is efficient, getting everything together before they go. Steve is silent, always watching her with haunted eyes.

Sharon leaves Wakanda with a promise to return, and small spheres that apparently allow holographic communication — the magic of Wakandan technology. She already has the equivalent of a phone date scheduled with Nakia in a few days time. She also now has multiple appointments with a Wakanda therapist. 

(“This is Wakanda, not America,” Nakia tells her. “We value our mental health here.”)

She’s surprised Tony doesn’t put up a fight when she tells him about her future therapy appointments, and insist that she use one of his doctors, but he tells her she’s glad she’s talking to someone. 

“You don’t want to end up like me,” he says with a wink, but she can see the ghosts of the past in his eyes. The two of them hug one more time, both squeezing one another tight, before he takes his suit and flies back to Pepper. He promises her a paper invitation to the wedding, she promises him once more that she will attend. 

On the flight back to the compound, she pretends to sleep. There’s an air of awkwardness between her and Steve. If she had thought the previous night to be awkward, then this situation cranks it up to eleven. Eventually, her fake sleep morphs into something real. She jerks awake when they land. Since her escape, every time she wakes, she is terrified her freedom was a cruel dream. This time is no different.

The three of them — Sharon, Steve, and Natasha — stumble about the jet. If there is one thing Sharon can say about Wakandan tech, it’s that she appreciates the speed. It puts a Concorde to shame. Still, the hour is late and she is unsure if everyone else had slept. Natasha, certainly not, as she had taken the cockpit. 

“I’m hitting the sack. Wake me and you’re dead,” she tells them, leaving Sharon alone with Steve. Sharon would assume this to be another of Natasha’s set ups if the exhaustion hadn’t been so heavy in her voice.

Steve turns to her, and Sharon braces for whatever declarations he’s been holding back.

“You need your rest,” he says, surprising her. Also surprising, or not, is how she wants to protest that she’s had enough, that all she has been doing is sleeping for the past few hours. 

Ignoring the confusing feelings, so she looks up to assess Steve. He looks haggard for far more reasons than physical exhaustion. She knows they still need to talk, but this isn’t the time either. “I do. Sleep well, Steve.”

She doesn’t hug him when she turns away, despite everything telling her she should. She pretends not to hear him when he says goodnight.

 

-/-

 

“Sharon!”

Large hands grip her wrists as she struggles. Sharon kicks out her legs, a scream on her lips. The only things that runs through her mind is  _ not again _ and  _ oh god, it had been a dream _ .

“Sharon, stop!”

Her knee collides with something hard, and the hands release. 

“Sharon, you’re dreaming. It’s not real,” a voice pleads. Familiar. Grounding

Awareness that had been far too slow to arrive slams into her all at once. The air touching her skin is cool, and she can hear the hum of air conditioning. The sheets under her are smooth and silky, and the mattress impossibly soft. Nothing about this place is like the camp. Sharon digs her nails into her skin. Pain. Steve, not one of the guards, kneels beside the bed. Relief at her situation abates, and is quickly replaced by anger.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Her eyes sting, and Sharon realizes that she’s crying. “You can’t just grab me like that.”

“You were screaming. I came to check on you,” Steve answers, surprisingly subdued.

In the dark, she can barely make out his expression. She turns away from him, and gropes for the lap on the bedside table. The room fills with light. Glancing around, she is assured that this is nothing like the camp.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” The numbers illuminated in red on the alarm clock beside her bed indicate that it is far too early of an hour for him to be awake.

“You were loud.” Briefly, she is taken back to a night more than a year ago, his arms around her thighs and a promise to make her scream. She pushes that line of thought out of her mind as quickly as it came. “I was..I was worried.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” 

“Okay, I’m not,” she concedes, because there’s no use in continuing the lie. Steve is impossibly stubborn, and he might continue arguing until she concedes. “But it’s nothing that can be solved at 3:00 AM.”

“No, I guess not.” Steve looks unhappy at that, almost as if he wishes he had the magical ability to make it so.  _ Me too, buddy,  _ she thinks. “You’re going to talk to the psychologist, right?”

“Yeah.” She knows better than to feel offended that he asked about her therapy. She needs it, she knows, and god, therapy is the most normal thing she can think of right now. Back in her S.H.I.E.L.D. days, she would be required to undergo a psych eval before and after each major mission. She can pretend these appointments are like  _ Before. _

“Good. I’m glad.”

“To be honest, I’m a little surprised you say so. The forties weren’t quite so progressive when it came to mental healthcare.” She refrains from mentioning how he’d rejected therapy when he had first woken up from the ice. That had been one of the reasons why she had been assigned to him back in the day.

She expects Steve to roll his eyes. That’s how he would always react when she teased him about his past and age. He surprises her with a small smile. “Thank Sam. He helped me see the light.”

“Sam is pretty great.”  _ Was _ , she mentally corrects.  _ Was.  _ Sharon doesn’t know when she will get accustomed to that. Sam being gone is still too surreal.

Steve looks down and the ground, apparently feeling the same. “He liked you a lot, just so you know. He read me the riot act after you left. He said when you got back stateside, that I should be there with a dozen roses and grovel.”

Sharon turns away from looking at Steve, and focuses on the artwork hanging across from the bed. It’s not anything she would have chosen, reminding her that she’s now staying in a dead person’s quarters. “I don’t know if that would have worked. I’m not a roses kind of girl.”

“I know. I was trying to figure out how to get those burgers in Florida you kept telling me out, and have them still be good when I got to Virginia,” Steve replies. Something in her chest twists at his admission that he had been planning on trying to win her back. She’s not sure how receptive she would have been then. Now, it just makes her want to cry. “Sam’s the one who told me you died. They thought it would be better coming from him.”

“They?” This isn’t what Sharon should be focusing on, but it’s by far the easiest.

“He and Natasha. I was the last to know,” his voice breaks a bit. “It took awhile for the information to get to me. Natasha had to be told by Hill, who heard it from Tony. Sam talked me out of going to the funeral. He said it would do more harm than good.”

“Sam was right. You were a fugitive. If they had seen you, you would have been arrested,” Sharon says. She shifts in the bed and hugs her knees tighter to her chest. “We all had worked too hard to throw that away just so you could see my empty casket.”

“That’s what Sam said.”

“Smart man, that Sam.” She finally has the courage to face him. It’s strange to see him sitting on the floor, his back against the nightstand almost mimicking her same position, only with his forearms resting against his knees. “I’m sorry you couldn’t have gone.”

_ Which might be the most fucked up thing I’ve ever said,  _ Sharon thinks. Had she really just apologized to Steve about the circumstances preventing him from attending her funeral. He seems to think the same thing, because he stares at her as if she’s grown two heads.

“The same circumstances that prevented me from going to your funeral are the same circumstances that got you ‘killed’ in the first place,” Steve replies, his voice hard.  _ He’s angry _ , she realizes.

“I don’t follow.”

“Tony was right,” he says. Steve is pulling one of her moves now, staring straight ahead. “I’m the reason you were in that mess. You wouldn’t have been sent there if it wasn’t for me.”

She should argue with him. Say it wasn’t his fault and that her association with him had nothing to do with what happened to her. But it’s something she wondered herself over the past year, and if she’s honest, her being sent to her death likely had something to do with her relationship with him. A message.

“There’s a lot of people who share the blame on what happened to me,” Sharon settles on saying, because that’s also the truth. Herself. Her captors. The CIA. 

“There are.” Sharon knows Steve well enough to realize that even though he’s agreeing with her, he still blames himself the most. “When I saw Ross in Wakanda, I saw red. All I could think about was you telling me that he asked if you wanted your old job back.” 

“You didn’t want me to go,” she recalls. She should have listened. She doesn’t tell him that, just as she doesn’t tell him that he shouldn’t have let his rage out on Ross. 

“You leaving would be proof I lost you,” he admits. He twists his hands. “Sharon, you have to know back then, all those fights we had were because I was scared. It had nothing to do with your abilities.”

“Oh? You didn’t make it seem that way.”

“You had already given up so much for me. Your job. Your friends. Your family. Even your country. I couldn’t be the one to get you killed too. And it looks like I almost did anyway, so all I really accomplished was alienating you.”

Memories of their past arguments come rushing back, and anger churns in her belly. Knowing this will lead nowhere good, she pushes it aside,“Look, Steve, I don’t want to end in another fight. Especially since I’m pretty sure I’ve already kneed you—“

“It didn’t hurt.”  _ Of course, super soldier. _

“You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he sighs, resigned. He shakes his head before pushing himself to a standing position. He towers over her, standing beside the bed like he is. He looks up at the ceiling, closing his eyes and running his hand through his hair. “Tony’s going to kill me for saying this, but I want you to know, I loved you then.”

“Steve…” Her voice trails off, because she has no idea what to say. His confession is a little too much to comprehend right now. 

“You don’t have to say it back. Contrary to popular belief, I do actually know what we had is in the past,” he says with a broken sort of laugh. The traitorous part of her mind wants to question him —  _ “Do you really, Steve?” _ — but Sharon holds her tongue. “But I didn’t want you to go another day thinking you weren’t loved. Because you were.” 

“Okay.” She looks away from him, afraid of what she might see if she looks into his eyes. Instead, Sharon focuses on her hands, which are shaking. “Thanks for telling me.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, and she hears him sigh once more. “I’m going to let you get some sleep. Do you want me to turn off your light.”

“No, I’ve got it.”

After leaves, Sharon falls back onto the bed, wondering just what else she will have to navigate.

 

-/-

 

Time passes. Sharon takes up running again. It’s something she used to do when she was younger and when she worked at S.H.I.E.L.D. When she went off the grid after helping Steve, she had stopped, not wanting to be caught. Now, she has no one to worry about catching her. 

Running is a solitary thing to her. It gives her space to think, and when she really wants, to potentially forget. If she focuses hard enough, the world melts away and it’s just her and the road in front of her. With everything that has happened recently, she prefers it that way.

Thankfully, neither Steve nor Natasha offer to join her. Natasha, because she thinks the fellow spy understands Sharon’s need for alone time, and Steve, because he’s been doing some strange combination of simultaneously both hovering and avoiding her. Recently, it has involved a lot of him being in the same room as her, but sitting in the chair furthest away from her. It’s awkward on the best of days. On the worst, it’s downright frustrating. But, she has bigger fish to fry than Steve Rogers and any declarations of past love he might have made. 

She has told her therapist about her talk with Steve. Her therapist, a severe-looking woman named Thabisa, has asked her how she feel about it, reminded Sharon that she doesn’t owe a romantic relationship to anyone. When Sharon had told her that she had too much going on to think about whatever she had with Steve, Thabisa had said it was okay...for now. 

_ “It’s something you will have to address eventually,” Thabisa had said, “especially if you intend to stay at the Avengers compound.” _

So Sharon takes that as an excuse to table everything concerning her romantic history with Steve Rogers. She recognizes that this is another form of running away, but she doesn’t really care. All of her energy is instead going to putting herself back together piece-by-piece and maybe to learn to sleep through the night without screaming. She hopes Steve has invested in ear plugs, because he continues to stay in the room next to hers.

And she thought being his neighbor the first time around was bad. At least she can take comfort in the fact that he knows her identity this time. Instead, she just has to deal with the fact that he was once in love with her, and she had serious feelings for him. So much easier, right?

Wrong.

 

-/-

 

“I’m going into the city. You should come with me,” Natasha tells her one morning after Sharon returns from her run. Sharon can tell by her tone that it is less of a request, and more of a demand. 

“What are we doing in the city? The last time you took me on a field trip, it ended with two people in the infirmary, myself included.” She’s not looking for a repeat of the trip to Wakanda. While it had been nice to once again see Nakia, and to make acquaintance with her therapist, the rest she could forget.  

“Relax. I planned on stopping by a few shelters, and I thought you could use a shopping trip.”

“Is this your way of telling me that I need to stop borrowing your clothes?” 

“Aw, c’mon, I have more tact than that.”

“Do you? Do you really?”

“You know, for that, I’m actually going to stop allowing you to borrow my clothes.” Natasha raises an eyebrow, challenging her. “Looks like you have to go to the city now, unless you want to walk around naked. Which might be worth it, because I really want to see if Steve is able to perfect his tortured puppy dog look.”

“Natasha…”

“What? Just because you aren’t sleeping together anymore doesn’t mean that he’s blind. Regardless of your relationship status, he’s still attracted to you.”

“Stop,” Sharon warns, hoping her tone brooks no argument from her friend. Sharon isn’t sure Natasha’s game plan concerning her past relationship with Steve. She had meddled in the past playing matchmaker. She’s not ready for any of it again.

Natasha looks at her thoughtfully before shrugging. “Anyway, we’re leaving in an hour. And if you’re worried, it’s just you and me this time around.”

Again, not a request. Sharon sighs, accepting the inevitable, and heads to the shower. She knows better to argue. Besides, Natasha is right: she needs new clothes, and she’s somewhat is intrigued to find out what shopping with Black Widow entails.

 

-/-

 

Sharon honestly shouldn’t be surprised that they had taken a jet into the city, but when they land on the roof of one of Tony’s buildings, she is still a bit reeling. This is the first time she has been in New York City since before her final mission with the CIA, and she thought she’d have more time to mentally prepare herself. 

It’s not the prettiest sight. Sharon had seen on the news some of the destruction of the city. First, from Thanos’ henchmen and whatever ship had taken Tony into space, and then later from the Snap. Cars, helicopters, and planes, suddenly unmanned, had crashed into a number of buildings. Because of the lack of population, repair and clean-up has been slow. Natasha stands next to her silent. Sharon knows what she’s thinking.  _ We failed.  _

“Let’s go help people, okay?” Sharon suggests. She looks back to the jet, loaded with supplies for various shelters around the city. 

Natasha simply nods in response. 

Together, they hand out clothing, food, and medical supplies. Sharon watches strangers cry. One woman pulls her into a hug, thanking her. She doesn’t know all of their stories, but she hears a few. A teenager who lost both his parents, grandmother, and baby sister. A husband and wife whose twin girls disappeared. A man whose entire hometown lost its entire population in a moment. 

She’s thankful S.H.I.E.L.D. training that forces her to put on a brave face. Each story makes he both want to vomit and fall apart. Sharon holds it together because she has to, because she must. She’s an Avenger now, even though she doesn’t know what it means now in the face of such tragedy.

Aunt Peggy once told her about liberating camps in Poland. She had been brought in to assist with the women, the ones who shied away from men and looked on with horror in their eyes. As sharp as Peggy could be, she had also been an incredible comfort. Sharon had listened to Peggy’s stories with rapt interest, but now she wishes she had asked more questions.

_ How did you deal with the guilt? Did you lay awake and wonder why so many people suffered when you were alive? How were you able to carry on? _

 

-/-

 

Shopping after is a somber affair. She’s dropped a size or two since the last time she had gone shopping before her captivity, so she goes through the motions of trying things on. Sharon studies her body in the mirror, the hit of her hip and collar bones, and the scars she hadn’t been present the last time she had stood under the unforgiving fluorescent lights of a dressing room.

Natasha occasionally throws various tops and sweaters over the door for her to try. Neither of them have talked much since leaving the last shelter. A shopping trip after what they’d just experienced feels almost irreverent, but maybe that had been Natasha’s point. Perhaps she thought they needed something to lighten the emotional weight they’d just carried. Sharon doesn’t think the plan has worked.

She leaves the few shops they visit with bags full of clothes for her — pants, shirts, dresses, and workout gear. Sharon thinks they’re about to head back to the jet before Natasha indicates they stop in one last place.

“You have an outfit for Tony’s wedding?” Natasha tilts her head to indicate the hangers of intricate dresses behind her. Sharon supposes that’s the answer to whether or not Natasha would let her borrow a formal gown to Tony’s black tie wedding.

They peruse the various gowns. Unsurprisingly, they’re pricey. Sharon tries not to think of how much she’s spent today. It’s all been necessary, but still a fair amount of money. Her current financial situation is a mess. Before going on the run, she’d managed to clear out a good bit of her bank account. Then she’d disappeared, been declared dead, and all of that had disappeared. Tony has his lawyers working through that mess, as well as sorting through her inheritance and ownership of the Carter estate now that her parents are gone. It’s all such a mess, and until it’s sorted she has to essentially rely on the credit card Tony had given her.

“ _ You’re on the Avengers bankroll now,” he had told her. “Don’t worry about it.” _

And, God, Sharon hates relying on other people. Another thing that makes her feel weak. She wonders when, if ever, she will begin to feel stronger again.

As she tries on various gowns, she is reminded of various past missions. Acting as Steve’s friendly neighborhood nurse had been one of her less glamorous undercover gigs. There were other times when she had don designer gowns and fancy jewelers, pretend to some heiress or philanthropist.

“Remember that time at the opera house in London?” Sharon asks Natasha. It had been one of the first missions she had gone on with Natasha, years before the other woman had become an Avenger and Sharon had been tasked with trailing Steve.

“Who could forget?” The man playing Faust had also been smuggling state secrets. Natasha had gone undercover as a Super. Sharon stayed hidden in the crowd, seats behind the man the singer had been ferrying information to. “Reminded me how much preferred ballet to opera.”

“And here I was thinking I should be grateful for getting a good show.”

“You didn’t have to act in it,” Natasha reminds her. She hands her a few gowns.

“Oh, but that’s what made it great — seeing you on stage in all your extra glory,” Sharon teases back. This feels normal. This feels like the old days, teasing one another about missions. “I’m just a little disappointed I wasn’t allowed to record it.”

“That would have been a good way to find yourself accidentally walking off a third floor balcony.”

“Too bad the CIA didn’t think to try that,” Sharon muses. She surprises herself with the darkness of the joke, and waits for Natasha to say something deflective.

Instead, she just shrugs, “Well, we all know the incompetence of the CIA. I’m a little surprised you joined up with them in the first place.”

“It wasn’t my first choice,” Sharon admits. She takes a few of the gowns into the dressing room. Natasha follows, and drapes herself in one of the chairs. “Fury asked me to go.”

“So S.H.I.E.L.D. would have someone on the inside,” Natasha surmises. Of course, there’s more to it than that, but Sharon doesn’t say it aloud. Her joining the CIA also drew suspicion away from what had been left of  S.H.I.E.L.D. If it were still around, people would have expected Peggy Carter’s niece to be the first to rejoin, but she had gone the way of the CIA.

_ Biggest mistake of my life. _

She wonders if Fury had known what would transpire with her role at the CIA — her springing Steve and Sam’s equipment from holding, her going on the run, and later return — would he have still asked her to join up. She can’t know the answer now. He’s gone.

Not wanting to dwell on Fury any longer, Sharon pushes open the curtain to show off the dress. ”How’s this?”

Natasha assesses her carefully. Raising a brow, she smirks, “Yellow is absolutely not your color.”

 

-/-

 

Later, after they fill themselves on burgers and load up the jet, Sharon finds herself alone in her room with a mountain of bags and boxes. She should hang them, but there’s the matter of someone else’s clothes currently hanging there.  _ Would it be grave robbing to move these? _

Unsure of what to do, she takes a deep breath and walks down the hall to the room next to hers. Half-hoping that he isn’t in his room, Sharon knocks on Steve Rogers door. He answers, a smudge of paint on his nose. It’s adorable.

“Sorry to interrupt your painting,” she apologizes quickly. 

He looks back at her confused, almost as if he’s wondering just how she knows what he’d been doing, and shakes his head as if the thought isn’t worth pursuing. “It’s not a problem. How was your outing with Natasha?”

“Very many clothes were bought.” Sharon intentionally doesn’t mention the heaviness of visiting the shelters. He had looked so at ease when he answered the door. She doesn’t want to ruin that more than she’s about it. “Which is my problem.”

“And why is that?” He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. He flashes her such an easy smile, so very different from the hesitant ones he’d been sending her lately.  _ Painting makes him happy.  _

“There are clothes in the room from...from whomever was there first,” Sharon explains, ignoring the guilt gnawing in her gut. “I don’t know what to do with it all.”

Sharon watches Steve’s expression cloud, his happy disposition fade away as he considers his missing friends and allies. “Um. I can get you some boxes and we can pack it up. Maybe put them down in storage.”

She thinks donating them might be better use than sitting in storage, but then it dawns on her why Steve might want the clothes and items to go down there.  _ In case we find a way to bring them back. _

Sharon wishes she had his optimism. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Also, feel free to stop by and say hello on my tumblr. Over there, I'm justanotherwannabeclassic!
> 
> Up next: Tony Stark gets married!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon talks on the phone a lot and Tony gets married.

_ “I’m getting married tomorrow.” _

“I know. I spent an inordinate amount of money on a dress to wear to your wedding,” Sharon replies as she adjusts the phone on her shoulder. She had been in the middle of chopping vegetables for a soup when Tony had called. 

The fact that she’s attending Tony’s wedding is difficult enough for her to wrap her mind around. Her earliest memories of him always included a different girl on his arm and later, a lecture from Aunt Peggy about respecting women. That lecture didn’t seem to really stick, because years later, he’d both slept with and broken the heart of Sharon’s freshman roommate.

She hadn’t spoken to him for a month after that.

But he’d eventually wisened up. Pepper is certainly to credit with that, though Sharon is sure the responsibility of being Iron Man matured him up a bit in a way Aunt Peggy’s lectures could not. 

“Speaking of said wedding, can you explain why the dress code is black tie when, for all intents and purposes, your ceremony appears to be in the middle of a forest?”

She’s not being entirely hyperbolic either. Sharon and Natasha has checked the coordinates for the ceremony. The GPS showed a small clearing by a lake, but otherwise surrounded by forest with no discernible trails. She’s already considered bringing along hiking boots to wear under her dress.

_ “The path to truth love isn’t easy, Shar. Consider it a metaphor for the journey of love.” _

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

_ “I’m being serious! Well, mostly. The aesthetic will also be nice. Think of the pictures.” _

She does think of the pictures, and then it hits her. “You’re doing this so there won’t be press pictures.”

_ “I always knew you were a smart cookie. See, this is why I tried to convince you to work for me. But noooooo, you just had to follow in your Aunt Peggy’s footsteps. Don’t get me wrong, great footsteps to follow, she was a hell of a woman—“ _

“Tony.”

_ “But you know the offer still stands right? Stark and Carter, taking on the world. It’ll be like the forties all over again, and we even have the star-spangled, flag-waving mascot too. Though instead of trying to get in the O.G. Agent Carter’s pants, he’s actually—“ _

“If you finish that sentence, I will kill you before Pepper even has the chance to become a widow.” Sharon pressed a hand to her temple. She really, really doesn’t want Tony to go there. The ghost of Peggy had haunted her and Steve’s early dynamic. She certainly doesn’t want to dwell on it now. In an effort to change the subject, “Is there a point to why you’re calling me?”

_ “Because I’m getting married tomorrow.” _

“A fact that we’ve already established.”

_ “And I wanted to make sure you knew where to sit. Make sure it’s on my side, okay? Pepper’s an amazing woman, and I get the urge to go all gal pal/female world domination and sit on her side, but you should sit on mine, got it?” _

“Tony, I was planning on sitting on your side,” Sharon replies with a laugh, wondering where he is going with this.  _ Maybe the wedding stress is getting to him,  _ she thinks with amusement.

_ “Yeah, but sit near the front, okay? Like the first or second row you’re allowed to sit in.”  _

“You mean where family sits?” Sharon asks without thinking. A beat later, and she realizes that’s exactly what he means. Something twists painfully in her chest. 

_ “Yeah, well, clearly I have no biological family left. Thank you, Bucky Barnes. And you’re the closest person I have left that’s not in the wedding party, so…” _

“So you don’t want to look like a total loser when compared to Pepper’s side of the family?” Sharon jokes, because that’s how Tony operates. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, and she’s suddenly happy he can’t see her cry. He’d sure tease her about sentimentality, that hypocritical ass.

_ “Exactly. I’m glad you understand, Share-Bear. Anyway, Rhodey keeps gesturing at me to do something which means I have to go. So, yeah, looks like I’m seeing you tomorrow.” _

“Have fun, Tony.”

_ “Fun is my middle name. Don’t you forget it.”  _

And then he hangs up. Sharon wipes at the corner of her eyes. She’s touched, really, that Tony would ask her to represent his family, but it also reminds her of all the family she has lost. Her parents had died not realizing her was alive. 

She’s too caught up in her thoughts to notice Steve ambling into the kitchen area. He places his hand on her shoulder, surely an action born from concern, but in her surprise she turns quickly slashing with the knife what her instincts say is a would-be attacker. He dodges out of the way  _ — _   Thank God for his enhanced abilities  _ — _ and raises his hands in supplication.

“Jesus Christ! I’m sorry,” she apologizes, dropping the knife on the counter, absolutely mortified. She hates how jumpy she gets nowadays. She’s at the Avengers compound  _ — _ far, far away from Tunisia. She’s safe.

“Hey, I should know better than to sneak up on a secret agent,” Steve replies in an attempt to diffuse the situation. His gaze lingers on her face, and she watches as it knits into something resembling concern. “What’s wrong? And don’t tell me it’s because chopping onions, because that is very clearly a pile of celery and carrots.”

“How astute. I always thought you would be a good spy.”

“Funny, because you used to tell me I’d make a terrible spy.” He crosses his arms over his chest, but he doesn’t sound offended. “You’re deflecting.”

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing you don’t already know about. I just got off the phone with Tony, and the topic of families came up, and it just, y’know, made me think of everyone we lost.”

His expression softens. “I’m _ — _ ”

“I swear to God, if you apologize one more time, I really will stab you.” She’s tired of his apologizing and shifting blame. She wants to feel sad without Steve beating himself up over failing to stop Thanos or to save her. 

Steve looks like he wants to ignore her request, but to his credit, he acquiesces. “Okay then. I’m glad you’re able to talk to Tony. Is he getting cold feet?”

“Believe it or not, no.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise. She wonders how Tony would feel knowing everyone’s shock about his nuptials.  _ Probably a mix of indignant and agreeable, depending on who he was talking to,  _ Sharon thinks.

“Well, you will have to tell me how it goes, then.”

It’s her turn to express shock. “You’re not going?”

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t invited.”

“Oh.” 

This shouldn’t surprise her. She knows Tony has harbored a significant amount of resentment towards Steve over the years. Any detente they might have come to in Wakanda had been limited, focused primarily on her well-being, with clearly no requisite for a wedding invitation. 

She wants to smack herself, however, for not realizing sooner. She had operated these past few weeks under the assumption that Tony would naturally invite Steve, because one is Iron Man and the other is Captain America, and that recent events might have forced them to overcome some of the disagreements. Naïveté on her part, clearly. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, in part because she feels guilty for any wedding discussions she had had in his presence, but also because she knows Steve. This has to hurt in some way.

“Hey, if I can’t apologize, you can’t either.” He replies. His eyes flick away from her face, and she knows her assessment had been correct. It does hurt. “You know, you never let on how close you and Tony were. Are.”

_ He’s deflecting,  _ Sharon thinks. She could call him out on it, but considering how much deflection she has done as of late, she allows it. “It was complicated back then.”

“Because you chose me over him?”

“I chose the cause I believed in over the one he believed in,” she corrects. Because it hadn’t been about Steve versus Tony to her, but about what was just and unjust. The two of them had just been on opposite sides.

“But he didn’t see it that way.”

“Would you?”

“I don’t know.” They hadn’t talked about that aspect of the civil war back when they had been together. To a degree, the lines had almost been formed along personal loyalties. How might Steve had felt if Sam’s conscience had led me to the other side? “What I do know is that I’m glad you have Tony again.”

“Yeah, me too.” She wonders if, down the line, Steve and Tony might someday reconcile. Steve doesn’t have the same long-running history she has with Tony, the kind of history that makes reconciliation history. In many ways, she had been collateral in their fight. Steve had been a direct hit.

Silence hangs heavy in the air after that, both unsure of what to say. This conversation is just another in a long kind of vulnerable moments. So, Sharon does what they do best, she deflects. “I’m, uh, working on some veggie soup. Would you like to play sous chef?”

He blinks, surprised. She realizes then that this might be one of the first times since her arrival when she had been the one to initiate anything resembling hanging out. She doesn’t dwell on how easily the invitation had slipped out of her mouth, but she thinks her therapist will be proud. Slowly, Steve’s expression morphs into a smile. 

“I’d love to.”

She hands over her knife. “Good.”

 

-/-

 

The entourage trekking to the wedding is quite possible the strangest assembly of people she’s been a part of. Natasha had coordinated them all into a nondescript van, the plan being to drive to the closest point to the wedding location, and then hike in full wedding attire the rest of the way. This is how Sharon ends up traipsing through a forest in upstate New York, flanked by Bruce Banner and an alien woman named Nebula. 

She doesn’t know much about the android woman, other than that she spent a month trapped on a ship lost in space with Tony, and that she’s spent the past month alternating between exploring Earth with a talking raccoon. She apparently has an assigned room at the compound, as Natasha has made noise that she might be staying for awhile. Sharon doesn’t mind. She could use some company aside from Steve and Natasha. New faces are good. Healthy, her therapist would say. 

“You’re getting quite an introduction to Earth weddings,” Sharon comments as she maneuvers over a log, grateful she opted for hiking boots over the heels she has nestled in her backpack. “Most aren’t like this.”

“Is the attire more sensible than this? You look as if can barely move.” Nebula’s gazes darts between Sharon in her emerald, gauzy gown to Natasha’s sleek black. 

“It varies. Usually women wear dresses, but nowadays you can get away with jumpsuits or suits, as well,” Sharon explains. Nebula isn’t dressed for a wedding, but instead a battle -- sleek in dark leather. If her incongruent clothing bothers her, it does not show. In fact, she looks pleased to not be wearing a dress. As they hike through the forest, Sharon doesn’t blame her. 

“Fascinating.”

“Does anyone know how much longer we have to go?” Banner asks from somewhere behind him. Sharon adjusts her backpack, and looks over her shoulder to see him inspecting the bottom of his shoe, a grimace on his face. 

“You can’t seriously be playing the ‘Are We There Yet?’ game?” Sharon teases. Ahead of her, Natasha laughs, earning a glare from Banner.

“It’s a valid question! At this point I'm now convinced Tony went crazy that month in space.” Beside her, Nebula stiffens. He winces, “No offense or anything.”

“Well, half the population of the universe did get wiped out on our watch,” Natasha deadpans. She lifts her dress carefully as she navigates over a creek. “That might qualify.”

“Yeah, but none of us are having weird weddings in the middle of the woods that involve us camping overnight. Does no one else see the weirdness of it all?”

“You proposing, Banner?” Natasha teases, causing Banner to stutter. Sharon knows of Natasha aborted relationship with the man, and wonders whether her friend had intended to flirt or twist a knife. Knowing Natasha, probably both. 

“Here one normal thing about American weddings,” Sharon whispers to Nebula with a conspiratorial smile, “they almost always involve close friends giving one another shit.”

“And why is that?” Nebula asks. “I had assumed based on the interactions of Peter Quill, that sort of dynamic of baseline normal for your kind.”

Sharon doesn’t know who Peter Quill is supposed to be, but doesn’t press. Instead, she explains. “A lot of times, weddings are a rare opportunity for old friends to get together after going their separate ways to live their lives. So weddings allow you to catch up and tease one another, like you used to. And, you know, celebrate the couple.”

It hits her then that this might be one of the first times many of the Avengers have been together since Tony’s return and the death of Thanos. _ And they’re already starting to splinter, _ she thinks. Steve had not been invited. Thor had, according to the raccoon, declined. She feels terribly sad for them all. Listening to how Steve and Natasha both had talked over the years, the Avengers had become more than just work associates, but a sort of family. 

That’s gone now.  _ How lonely they must be. _

Sharon twists her arm around, and reaches into her bag for a phone. She is surprised and grateful for service as she types out a message,  **Hey. Have you seen Four Weddings and a Funeral? Wedding Crashers? My Best Friend’s Wedding?**

A few minutes pass before she receives a response.  **_No to all. Why?_ ** She can picture Steve’s face confused as her both read her text and typed out a response.

**I’m considering starting a movie night to reintroduce Nebula to American culture, and remembered that you’re a dinosaur. Thought you might want to be included.**

Steve had mentioned movie nights at Avengers Tower a long time ago, how the others had used film to help acclimate him to modern society. He hadn’t cared for many of the movies, but she could tell her delighted in the camaraderie based solely on how he relayed various members’ reactions and dynamics. 

She’s not entirely sure what compels her to push for a movie night now, except perhaps for the desire to feel effective in an otherwise powerless world. She can’t heal the wounds between Steve or Tony, and she can’t bring back everyone who had been lost. But if Nebula will be staying at the compound for awhile, maybe Sharon can help her feel welcome and give Steve (and Natasha, if she wishes to join) a sense of that old familiarity. She wonders what her therapist might say about the plan. Two initiations on her part. Growth.

  
  


-/-

 

The wedding is gorgeous. 

Sharon, not normally a crier at weddings, wipes away tears from the corner of her eyes when Tony recites his vows. She’s glad he’s found his happiness, glad he has found it with Pepper, an extraordinary woman in her own right. 

But for as wonderful as the wedding is, she finds the reception to be an award affair. Rhodey, whose heart had been in an entirely good place, had told he was happy to see her again, commenting on how he was happy that Tony could have her here after believing he would never again get the chance. She finds herself lingering around Nebula, the only person present outside of Pepper’s scant number of relatives who didn’t know of her past history as a spy. 

She also texts Steve. A few photos here and there. A play-by-play of the continued awkwardness between Natasha and Banner. She treats it almost as if he were here to whisper her more jokey or uncharitable asides and observations. She notes how Pepper hasn’t taken a sip from her wine glass all night, but that appears to fly over his head.  _ Did they even advise against drinking while pregnant in the ‘40s? _

**_Maybe she doesn’t want to drink?_ **

**At a wedding?? Give me all of the wine at mine.**

**_Do you think of your wedding often?_ **

His question veers into murky waters she has been avoiding the past few weeks, the ones near  _ Ex Boyfriend Island _ and  _ He Told Me He Loved Me Peninsula _ . So she taps out  **No. I was talking about metaphorical weddings** and leaves it at that. He doesn’t need to know that once upon a time, she had briefly entertained the idea of marrying him in the  _ maybe, someday, I can possibly see it _ kind of way, the same kind of way many people did when dating a good guy, but the uncertainty of their lives had pushed it from her mind even during the best of times.

She doesn’t wait for any response, allowing Natasha grab her arm and pull her onto the dance floor. They make a mutual attempt to coax Nebula to join, but her uncertainty and dislike of the music are obvious. For a moment, Sharon is reminded of a disastrous date with Steve, one where they had visited a club in Morocco. He’d been so overwhelmed by the loud beats of the music and many gyrating bodies, they had left not long after they arrived.

Later when she falls into her camp bed, which is somehow more comfortable than most hotel beds, she listens to the sounds of lingering few revelers. Even with most of the reception dying down, she finds the noises distracting. She hadn’t realized how accustomed she had grown to the near silence of the compound. Despite the sounds being different, in some ways, she is reminded of the camp she’d been held. The air has a familiar humidity, and though insanely comfortable, the small size of the camp bed resembles where she once slept.

She pushes herself out of the bed and fishes for her phone. She calculates the time difference to Wakanda. It would still be early yet. She recalls a conversation from years ago, one relayed to her by Sam. Her therapist wouldn’t necessarily like this, but she has her mind made up when she makes the call.

_ “Sharon? Are you okay?”  _

She takes a deep breath, hating how week she suddenly feels and the panic in Steve’s voice on the other end of the line. “Do you remember when you and Sam talked about how weird beds feel after you go to war?”

_ “He told you about that?” _

“Sam and I talked a lot.”  _ Mostly about how worried we were about you, _ is what she doesn’t say. “I was wondering if you two ever talked about how it feels when you go back to something similar.”

Steve is quiet, his silence stretching on to the point that Sharon begins to question whether or not she had made the right decision to call him. Finally, he speaks, his voice impossibly soft. She can’t tell if she hates that more.  _ “Sometimes, when I was on the run, I’d be taken back to the war. But, for me, it was less the bed situation and more the circumstances around it. The uncertainty. The looking over your shoulder. Did something happen at the wedding?” _

“No, it was fine. Beautiful, even.”

_ “You don’t sound fine.” _

“Steve, I don’t remember the last time I felt fine. That’s not...that’s not what I’m talking about.” She runs her hand through her hair. She has no right to be exasperated. She’s the one who called him. “What’d you do those nights when you were on the run and taken back?”

_ “If I had stuff with me, I drew. Back when you and I were together, I’d call you.” _

“Wait, really? And here I thought you were a romantic and calling me out of the blue and calling me because you wanted to,” she teases, not sure of what to make of his confession.

_ “I did. And I am romantic. You just also made me feel good — and, I absolutely did not mean that in a sexy sort of way.” _

“Are you saying I am bad at sex now?”

_ “What? No!”  _ Steve’s voice actually raises an octave, and Sharon has to stifle a laugh. She had forgotten how easy he was to rile up. _ “You are very— wait, you’re messing with me, aren’t you?” _

“Maybe.”

_ “That’s not very nice.” _

“When have you ever known me to be nice?”

_ “Once upon a time, I knew a very nice nurse named Kate.” _

“Hardy, har-har. You’re a riot, Steve.”

_ “You asked when the last time I knew you were nice. It would be rude of me to not oblige. I’m a nice person.”  _ His tone is full USO, the overly sugar PR-voice that had been trained into him. But then it softens as he says,  _ “This is why I would call you, by the way. We’d talk about anything but the way I was feeling and for a little while, I would forget.” _

“Oh, well, I’m glad I could help you forget,” she tells him. Sharon means it, too. It’s still a heavy statement that weighs on her chest, another in a long list of heavy statements coming from him. But since she had been the one to reach out to him, she can’t complain or shirk away. “Do you mind trying to return the favor?”

He’s quiet again, and Sharon realizes she might have asked too much of him. It’s late. They’re still in a weird place where she can’t even assign a name to what they are. But then Steve — good, nice Steve — clears his throat. “How much did Peggy tell you about the Commandos?”

“Plenty. But I’m sure you can offer up some stories from a different perspective…”

She falls asleep to the sound of his voice. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“What do you think?”

They’re at a diner in Brooklyn, the one Steve once swore he’d take her after the mess with Tony and the Accords passed. Sharon hadn’t honestly believed he would pull it off, but that’s on her for not taking Steve Rogers at his word. However, she’s sure he didn’t imagine when proposing the date that Natasha Romanoff would be tagging along, and that they’d go after assisting in the continued rebuilding efforts after an alien madman killed half the population of the known universe.

“The burger is serviceable,” Sharon answers. It’s honestly very good, maybe Top 20 on her list, but she’s not going to tell Steve that.

He narrows his eyes and frowns. “You’re lying.”

“All I’m saying is that it loses points for its toppings-to-meat ratio. It’s off.”

“Carter, you did not just utter the words ‘topping-to-meat ratio’,” Natasha teases as Steve guffaws. Sharon returns her friend’s snark by liberating a fry from her plate After talking to so many victims and witnessing the makeshift memorial, it feels nice to smile. It lightens the moment, and allows them to pretend that, for once, not everything is horrible. 

Except others don’t see it that way. A man from two tables down sits up abruptly, and his table shakes with the forces and suddenness of his movements. 

“You think it’s funny, what happened?” he calls out to them. 

Steve tenses, and has to turn to see the man. “Sir, I don’t know—”

“They’re all dead because of you. My wife. My parents. They’re gone and you— how can you sit there and laugh?” His voice breaks, and Sharon realizes the man is about to cry. Natasha looks away, but Steve’s gaze stays locked on the man. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, his voice soft. “That hadn’t been our intention. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Why do you get to live when they don’t?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

Sharon watches the scene play out, knowing the only way it can end.  _ We need to get out of here.  _ She digs through her bag, and pulls out her wallet. She locks eyes with Natasha, who nods in understanding.

Sharon throws a wad of cash down, more than she knows would cover their tab. Natasha slides out of the booth, but Steve stays, resolute. Sharon reaches out and grabs his arm. “Steve, let’s go.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says once more to the man. “I’m sorry.”

They leave. No one talks the entire way back.

 

-/-

  
  


Sharon remembers when the world celebrated the Avengers as heroes. After New York, when it felt like they could do no wrong. Like they couldn’t fail. 

Then S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. And Sokovia. And then the Avengers fractured apart. Just like that the perception of them as heroes had been cracked. But even then, when push came to shove, did anyone honestly think they would fail? That Earth would lose?

No. 

Even when Sharon had first learned why half the world’s population had disappeared, the knowledge had felt like a kick to the head. Because at the end of the day, she couldn’t imagine them failing to stop the bad guy, for Steve to fail at stopping him. And she knows them. The rest of humanity? Thy only know their public personas. 

Perhaps this is why she isn’t totally shocked by what happened in Brooklyn. The man is grieving. He’s lost so much, and he has no way of knowing the weight Steve and Natasha are carrying. He has no idea what — who — they lost. 

Sharon knows Steve had wanted to stay behind and talk, just as she knows that he resents her from insisting she go. When they reach the compound, he pushes past her, refusing to meet her eyes.  _ This is how Steve Rogers run away _ , she thinks. Sharon wishes the brush off didn’t hurt, but wills the feeling away. 

“He’s going to destroy another punching bag,” Natasha sighs as they watch his retreating form.

“Him staying there wouldn’t have made anything better.”

“Nothing would,” Natasha replies. She loops her arm around Sharon. “I need something to drink. What do you say we go find Nebula and introduce her to the concept of drinking our sorrows while watching a trashy movie?”

What Sharon wants to do is go after Steve. She doesn’t. “Sounds like a plan.”

  
  


-/-

 

Sharon does not remember the last time she has been so drunk that the world around her spins. Years. It has to be years. She should know better than to drink vodka against a Russian and an android. 

But for a moment she — no, she did not forget — but for a moment it didn’t matter as she let the booze wash over her. For a moment, she was no longer Sharon Carter, survivor or Sharon Carter, former POW. For a brief moment, it felt as if no one was dead. For the briefest of moments, she was a woman with a strange assortment of friends. That’s all she needed. 

She stumbles into her room. Only it isn’t her room. The decor is different, the layout flipped, and there is an easel. She walks to it, like a moth drawn to a flame, and admires the work. 

“Do you paint everyone who is dead?” Sharon asks, when she hears a person approaching her from behind. Her skills may be rusty, and she may be drunk, but can recognize Steve Rogers’ gait from anywhere. 

“I think that would be impossible to do, but I’ve been working through the team,” Steve says. He moves to stand beside her, his gaze transfixed on the painting. It’s of King T’Challa, the Black Panther.  _ It’s beautiful _ , and she thinks Nakia might like to have it. 

“Maybe I’ll give it to her the next time I see her,” Steve says, and Sharon realizes she had said those words aloud. “We’ll be going again next month.”

“Who else have you painted?”

“Sam. Bucky. Wanda. Clint’s family,” Steve says. His voice is soft, low, and so, so sad. “It helps me— it helps me honor them.”

“Did you paint me? When you thought I was dead?” Sharon asks. It’s both a stupid and dangerous question.

“Yeah, I did.” He shifts in place beside her. 

“Can I see it?”

“I don’t have it anymore,” Sharon is too drunk to tell if he’s lying or not, which is a shame because he’s a lousy liar. So she goes with her gut.

“See, the thing is, I think you’re lying.”

“And I think you’re drunk,” Steve replies. Any amusement in his voice that Sharon might expect to hear is gone. This bothers her.

“You’re still mad at me.” Her voice comes out as a whine. She’s too drunk to care. “You’re still mad about me making us leave earlier.”

“Mad isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Yeah, we’ll you’re something. And that’s frustrating because I was right to go. You stayin’ there and talking wouldn’t have helped him.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I think I do. He wanted someone to be mad at. I know because I wanted someone to be mad at and you wanted someone to be mad at when I was gone too,” Sharon argues. Steve watches her carefully, and she wonders if she is making any sense. She thinks she is, so Sharon presses on. “That’s why you threw Ross through that wall, right? You were mad and no matter what he said would have changed that. The difference between you and that guy is that he couldn’t throw you threw a wall.”

Steve is silent. She doesn’t like the silence, nor the way he crosses his arms. So she sighs and says, “Look, you know I’m right. And I don’t feel like arguing anymore, so I am going to go to bed.”

She turns on her heel and stumbles, the world going out from under her. Embarrassment overtakes her when Steve catches her, his hands warm and strong as they bolster her body. She curses loudly, but knows better than to fight him off. 

“Thanks,” she says when he rights her. Cheeks flushed, she begins to walk away. It takes all of her effort to stand straight and keep from falling, but she makes it to her room. When she reaches the door, Sharon chances a glance down the hallway, only to find Steve watching her with concern.

That night, she has a dreamless sleep. When she wakes, it is with a pounding headache, but thankfully no nausea. She stumbles to her bathroom, and is dismayed to the bottle of aspirin completely empty.

“Fuck, past me, why?” Sharon moans. She throws some water on her face. She’s pretty sure there’s some painkillers elsewhere in the compound, but she can’t remember where. 

Deciding Natasha might be the person to ask, she ambles into the hallway. She kicks something, and hears the tell-tell sign of pills in a plastic bottle. Someone had set a bottle outside of her door.

Sharon kneels down to grab the bottle — extra-strength, hurrah — and a folded piece of paper. She gasps when she’s a portrait of herself sketched out in pencil. Even in her foggy state, Sharon knows the only person who could have drawn her this way.

She also knows what it represents: an olive branch.

 

-/-

  
  


In a perfect world, Sharon could count her recovery in successful movie nights, newfound friendships, and full nights of sleep. But billions of people are dead, and the world is anything but perfect. 

The fact of the matter is, survivor’s guilt weighs on them heavily, all in different ways. That’s what her therapist says, and she tends to be right about a lot of things these days.

Sharon attempts to keep up the movie nights, but they fall the wayside. Though Steve’s anger at her has ebbed away, the awkwardness of their past relationship has not disappeared. Nebula grows restless and frustrated, running off to New Asgard, to where Rocket (the name of the talking raccoon, Sharon has learned) has taken up residence with Thor and the remaining Asgardians.

Tony, too, runs away to a cabin in the woods, a pregnant Pepper in tow.

“What are you going to do when she goes into? You’re miles from the nearest hospital,” she asks after he announces that he’s leaving the city life behind.

“I’m Iron Man. I’ll figure something out,” is his answer.

Sharon wants to shout at him that he’s running away, but how can she? They all seem to be running these days. That’s what she has been doing since she resurfaced. Sharon knows what she’s running from, what they all are. But where they’re going? 

She can’t say.

 

-/-

 

When they’re in Wakanda, Steve presents his painting of the late King to Nakia. She does not cry, not publicly, but she gives Steve a grateful hug.

Nakia joins Sharon, Steve, and Natasha as they walk the fields where the battle had initially been fought. There’s an eeriness present, a sense of foreboding that reminds Sharon of when she has visited Normandy with Aunt Peggy. Aunt Peggy had not been one to believe in ghosts, but even she said she was haunted by that place. 

It is here where Nakia’s eyes rim red. Sharon reaches out to grab her hand, both in support and solidarity. Her own cheeks are wet with tears, though not for the same reason. Though she mourns the lives lost, she can’t help but reflect on how she is alive and they are not. She was a passive actor in this war, if she can even call it that. She feels as if she doesn’t belong, even as her friends insist she does.

“Do you need anything?” Steve asks as he moves by her side. His hand awkwardly hovers over her shoulder. Sharon wishes he would just touch her. 

“No, I’m fine.”

Sharon and Nakia branch off from the group when they return to the castle. Sharon fills Nakia about the goings-on of the States and shares a few pictures from Tony’s wedding.

“I’m glad some people can find happiness.”

“It kind of makes me hate him a little bit,” Sharon admits. As much as she loves Tony, there is a part of her that she can’t deny that is a little envious. Not of the marriage part, per se, but how sure he is about his decisions, about the people he loves. She barely has a fraction of that, and even then, she is more confused about ever.

“One of the most frustrating aspects of the aftermath is how it makes us feel toward loved ones,” Nakia comments. “I see so many people here with their loved ones. Couples, parents, siblings. And I can’t help but resent them somewhat.”

“I think that’s how almost everyone feels, to a degree.” Sharon thinks of her parents, how they were turned to dust without knowing she was alive all along. “I still haven’t been able to go back to Richmond. I need to do something with the estate, but I can’t. Steve and Tony both have offered to help me, but it has to be a me thing.”

“You do realize how absurd you sound.”

Sharon flushes. Compared to everything Nakia has lost… “I’m being completely self-centered, aren’t I?”

“Completely? No. A little bit? Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I think grief makes us all a bit selfish,” Nakia replies, and Sharon is grateful for her capacity to forgive. “Like I said, it’s completely selfish of me to resent the people who lost comparatively little. You’d be surprised how often I find myself resenting Steve Rogers. His gift went a long way in soothing old wounds.”

“Steve lost plenty of friends, as well. Bucky and Sam were like brothers to him,” Sharon says, suddenly defensive. 

“I know, and Shuri was like a sister to me,” Nakia replies matter-of-factory,  “but that’s not why I resented him.”

“It’s his ability to consume an insane number of calories and not put on a pound, isn’t it?”

Nakia chuckles, but shakes her head. “Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of T’Challa returning to me? To Wakanda? One minute he was alive, and the next he wasn’t. I never got the chance to say goodbye. Not really. If I could see him again, I would almost give anything.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sharon tells her, because she doesn’t know what else to say. There is nothing else to say. She is reminded of her first night in the compound, of how Steve reached for her and gasped that her presence wasn’t a dream. “You resent him because I came back.”

Sharon wonders if this confession should make her mad. It doesn’t. Instead she feels hollow.

“As I said, selfish, I know,” Nakia admits. “For what it’s worth, this isn’t me trying guilt you.”

“I know. I didn’t take it that way.”

“This also isn’t me trying to guilt you into being with him, either. You are free to do whatever you want.”

“I know that too.”

“But as someone who understands where he is coming from, do go easy on him,” Nakia adds. 

Sharon frowns. If she wasn’t so sure that Nakia had been trying to shift the conversation from her own pain, Sharon might have been more offsend “I thought you were on my side!”

“I am, but I empathize. That’s all,” Nakia comments. “You can involve yourself with any consenting man or woman you want, just break that poor man’s heart gently.”

“How do you even know I would break his heart. It’s been almost two years since we were last together.”

Nakia looks back at her, incredulous. “I see the way he looks at you. You were too good of a spy to not see the way he looks at you. He looks at you with the eyes of a man who has not moved on. You just have to decide if you want him to.”

Sharon shifts uncomfortably. “Can you go back to resenting him? I don’t like this empathetic-toward-Steve Nakia.”

Her friend’s expression softens. “I only say this because I don’t want you to get hurt, and the more you drag this on, the more you’re going to get hurt too.”

She’s right. Sharon can’t deny that her friend is right, but that’s also the problem. Because when it comes to Steve Rogers, Sharon Carter doesn’t know what she wants.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change on this chapter. ;)

_ “You’re the only one I trust not to piss themselves whenever you see him.” _

That’s what Fury had said when he passed Sharon the case file and assigned her to work undercover as Steve’s neighbor. Growing up with Aunt Peggy’s stories had humanized him in many ways, giving her insight to the man that others wouldn’t have. And Fury had been mostly right. She’d done well as Kate. Too well, she had realized, the moment he asked her out.

That had not been a part of the plan. 

Sharon doesn’t consider it vain to know she is conventionally attractive. Her looks have come in handy a time or two when attempting to honeytrap a mark. So, really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that Steve considered her pretty. Considering how long he and Aunt Peggy had danced around one another without him making a move, asking her out didn’t seem like the thing he’d do. And yet, he surprised her.

Whatever they’re doing now aligns more with the man who waited around until the last possible minute than the one who mustered enough courage to request a date in an apartment hallway. Sharon prefers it this way. It gives her time, time to turn over and over in her head what she wants and determine if the answer is him. 

Physically, the answer is yes. Sharon has eyes. He is an objectively beautiful man. They have the chemistry. Sharon has the memories. There are times when Sharon has awoken aching and wanting, nights when she has slipped her fingers beneath her underthings and gotten off to the thought of him. And, Sharon is certain that he, at minimum, also wants her. She’s seen the ways his eyes track her body when he thinks she isn’t looking. 

She’s not blind.

She’s confused.

Because even though she knows what her body wants, her mind is a jumbled mess. She has proof that they don’t work, but there’s a traitorous part of her that knows the context now would be different. Neither of them are on the run. They have all the time in the world to work on whatever they are. But does she want that? Is she capable of that? What they have now is fragile, but it works. And she’s not sure she’s capable of being the person to carry on a relationship, not with her baggage.

Months ago, Natasha had told Sharon that her being alive could give Steve hope  — and that’s also a problem. Because she doesn’t want to be that. Can’t be that, if she’s honest with herself. It makes her feel enough like a hypocrite, because the fact of the matter is this: the only reason she’s alive is because everyone else is dead. 

And who can find hope in that?

 

-/-

 

She’s been putting off sorting out affairs in Richmond, and she thinks it is time to go. 

Sharon can’t delay revisiting her family’s home forever. Tony offers to go down with her. He’d already been paying someone for upkeep with the estate, but Sharon turns down the offer, “Pepper is way too pregnant for that, Tony.”

She’s not. Pepper’s only in her second trimester and is far from an invalid. But this is something Sharon thinks she needs to do alone. Natasha and Steve both separately offer her access to jet, but she too declines their offer. Instead, she takes one of nondescript black SUVs from the garage. 

The drive is long and solitary, but that has never bothered Sharon. She plugs in her phone and blasts the music she enjoys, the kind that would make Steve furrow his brow whenever she plays it around him. She’s driven enough between New York and Virginia to recognize that there are fewer cars on the road, and Sharon cannot believe that she actually finds herself missing traffic. 

The lack of cars aren’t the only signs showing the effects of the Snap. She passes numerous gas stations that are empty and disused, no longer running because the owner and staff are gone. 

It’s a horror show, but it’s her reality.

Driving through Richmond is much of the same. Storefronts she had visited just a few years earlier have been boarded up. She passes homes that have clearly been looted. The house of her childhood best friend has a ‘For Sale’ sign out front, and Sharon wonders what this has done to the housing market. It’s easier to focus on the economics rather than human cost. Does that make her unfeeling?

And finally, Sharon is home.

 

-/-

 

Sharon’s relationship with her family had been complicated, to say the least. 

She had been unplanned, a late-in-life surprise that for whatever reason her parents had decided to roll with. They had never been what one would call present, and more often than not, that is why Sharon found herself spending a significant amount of time with Aunt Peggy. 

Aunt Peggy had been mostly retired then, her own children grown and pursuing their own dreams. While her own parents worked, Sharon would be regaled with tales of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the second world war. Is it any wonder that Sharon had followed in Peggy’s footsteps? 

Her parents hadn’t been happy about that.  _ “It’s too dangerous,” _ her mother had cried, and her father had been painfully stoic about the whole thing. When Sharon had graduated from the Academy, Aunt Peggy had come and Tony, too. But not Harrison and Amanda Carter. That night, Sharon had cried herself to sleep instead of celebrating with her fellow graduates.

Sharon barely remembers the last time she had even talked to them, a rushed phone call letting them know that she was alive and on the run. That had been before joined up again with the CIA. Before she’d wound up in a camp in Tunisia. As far as Harrison and Amanda Carter knew, their only daughter had died. They had a funeral, one Tony had apparently paid for. In many ways, Sharon is surprised they let him. It’s not like her family didn’t have money. But perhaps they blamed Tony, as well, for what happened to her, considering she had been caught up in the Avengers civil war. 

The script has flipped now. They’re the ones who are dead, and she’s the living one left to pick up the pieces. She hasn’t even held a funeral yet, though that’s common for the victims of the Snap. Memorials have more or less replaced individual funerals.

Too many people have died. 

 

-/-

 

Sharon spends the next few days sorting through clothing and pieces of furniture to donate. She remembers packing up her room in the compound, and how Steve had wanted to keep the items that weren’t hers in storage.  _ Just in case. _ She thinks she understands him a little bit more now. 

There are a few items she will keep by her side regardless of whatever happens next: her grandmother’s string a pearls, her father’s ashtray, and numerous photo albums. Despite no longer being religious, she tucks away the family Bible in her bag. Exploring her family home as the only occupant is nothing short of surreal, and Sharon finds herself venturing away from it just to keep her sanity.

Not that the outside world is much better. 

Sharon’s first visit to a grocery store is a reality check, one that reminds her of the privileges of living in the Avengers compound. Fresh produce is hard to find, and there are shortages of products that had once been in abundance. Intellectually, this is something she has known. She’s read the various reports and seen the stories on television. The loss of human population means that there are fewer people to collect and transport food. Entire systems have broken down. It’s a wonder society hasn’t completely collapsed. She makes a note to discuss this with Steve and Natasha once she’s back in New York. 

She runs into very few people who recognize her. Sharon can’t decide if that is a good or bad thing. Richmond, before had been large enough that she could easily enough blend into the crowd. She likes to pretend those who might remember have simply moved away. It’s easier than admitting they’re gone.

To a degree, Sharon is a little shocked by how this affects her. As a child, she had wanted nothing more than to move away from Richmond. Washington, though only a few hours away, had felt like a safe haven from the judgement of her family and the routine of living in Virginia’s capital. But now that she’s back, she finds herself aching for the people she had considered boring and the shops she would frequent that were now gone. She finds herself missing that homey feeling.  

She tells Steve this one night on the phone. Her trip, in part, had been a good way to get away from him, to give herself some time to think about what Nakia had said without his presence. She thinks she’s failing at this. 

“It’s hard going somewhere familiar and knowing everything familiar about it has changed,” Steve tells her. She wants to smack herself. In many ways she’s experiencing a small portion of what he had when he woke up from the ice. “When I visited my old neighborhood in Brooklyn, everyone I knew had either left or died.”

“Does it get any easier?”

“With time, yeah,” he replies. “You begin to build your own life again, and the ache mostly goes away.”

“But not completely?”

“No, but it gets manageable. And that’s all we can ask for, in the end,” he replies.

“You sound a bit like Sam right now,” she tells him. The mention of Sam also makes her chest ache, but she doesn’t ask when that will be manageable. She doubts even he knows.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Steve says with a small laugh, but she can hear the sadness behind his words. 

“You should.” Sharon wonders what Sam would say about whatever she and Steve are.  _ He’d kick our asses,  _ she thinks. Realizing this should be her cue to hang up, she tells him, “I’m exhausted, so I’m going to hit the sack. I’ll keep you updated on when I plan on heading back.”

“Sleep well, Sharon.”

She sighs deeply when she ends the call and wonders what the hell she is going to do. 

 

-/-

 

A storm rolls through, keeping Sharon indoors. 

She used to be afraid of storms. Like many children, the roar of thunder and crack of lightning would scare her, occasionally driving her into her parents bedroom for comfort. Even as an adult, she can’t help the chill that runs down her spine as the wind howls outside. 

She busies herself by sorting through family photos. Though her parents hadn’t been the most involved, they certainly seemed to enjoy taking pictures of her.  _ For show,  _ she thinks. 

A loud, booming knock on the front door startles her. She jumps, knocking over the glass of wine she had poured. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Sharon scoops up the photos, and waves them in hopes that they hadn’t been ruined by the spill. Whomever is on the other side of the door knocks again. Because she hadn’t been expecting anyone, she is instantly suspicious. After placing the photos on on the couch, she reaches for her handgun. She’s kept it by her side almost the entire week she has spent here, hoping she wouldn’t have to use it.

She walks slowly to the door. While it’s unlikely an assailant would knock, she’s experienced far crazier things.  _ It’s probably some Mormon or Jehovah’s Witness.  _ A fair number of the living had turned to religion in the aftermath of the Snap.  _ Maybe they’re trying to spread the love.  _ When she opens the door, however, Sharon realizes just how wrong she was about the Mormons or someone trying to hurt her. Neither of her assumptions had been correct.

Standing outside her door, looking waterlogged and holding plastic bags full of food, is Steve Rogers.

“What the hell?” Sharon asks, stepping aside and letting him in. He hadn’t told her that he planned on visiting. 

“I was in the area, and I thought you could use some company,” he answers. He holds up the bag, “I come bearing burgers.”

“What does ‘in the area mean’?” She leads him to the kitchen and grabs a few of her unpacked plates. As unexpected as his visit is, Sharon can’t help but be a little happy she won’t be eating soup from a can for her third dinner in a row.

“DC.”

“That’s three hours away!” Steve shrugs in response, and busies himself with plating the food. “What were you doing in Washington, anyway?”

“Meeting with the President. She wanted to have some one-on-one time with someone from the Avengers, and we’ve put it off long enough.” 

“Was it PR or policy?”

“A little bit of both. I can’t fully blame her for the PR bit. The country needs to see us as a united front.”

Sharon is fairly certain that she can speak for all women when she says this isn’t the scenario she had in mind for the first female President of the United States. “We’re lucky, though, that we lost only at far as State.”

She can only imagine some horrific  _ Designated Survivor _ -esque scenario in which the poor Secretary of Health & Human Services had been left in the line of succession. He, in fact, had been dusted. Elizabeth Chan, the then Secretary of State had been sworn in as President the moment everyone realized what had happened. 

“She’s competent, I’ll give her that. She has to be to keep the country afloat in this mess, and she’s doing a better job than others would in the same situation. She said she always admired Teddy Roosevelt, but never intended to emulate his path to the presidency, nor to this scale.” 

It’s only once Steve bites into his burger that Sharon realizes that he’s still wet, and that he is likely dropping into the tile. “Um. Do you want a towel? I think I threw some of my dad’s sweatpants into the donation pile, though I don’t think they’ll fit you.”

“A towel would be great, thanks. As for sweatpants, I have a change of clothes in the SUV.” He colors at the admission that he brought a change of clothes. 

“Mighty presumptuous.” 

“Presumptuous would have been appearing at your door with the bag.” Scratching behind his ear, he amends, “I wasn’t sure how long I was going to be in DC, or if I was going to stop between there and New York on the way back.”

Sharon pilfers an onion ring from his plate. He had ordered her fries, which is her normal preference, but who can blame a girl for liking variety. “Well, go change before this gets cold.”

He gives her a mock salute before running to the car. 

 

-/-

 

Later, after Steve has changed and Sharon has devoured her burger, fries, and a quarter of Steve’s onion rings, Sharon shows him the photos she had been sorting through prior to his surprise appearance. He quirks a brow at a photo of her fifteen-year-old self glaring at the camera, bright pink streaks in her hair. 

“What inspired this?”

“All the girls on the cross country team colored their hair for a big race. My parents were livid.” Sharon can still remember her mother’s shocked gasp when she returned from a sleepover at Fiona Ferris’ house with her hair streaked. “She said no one would ever take me seriously. Jokes on her. I actually won that race.”

“Good for you.” Steve gives her a winning smile before looking through more photos. He pauses at one of a much younger Sharon and Peggy. Sharon can’t quite remember the context, but they’re both laughing in the picture, so they must have been enjoying themselves. “What did she think of the pink hair?”

Sharon purses her lips. “Aunt Peggy was progressive in many ways, but even she wasn’t too fond me coloring my hair like that. I think she believed there were better ways to bond than altering our appearance. Honestly, I just chalked it up to an old school thing more than anything.” 

“I feel like I should be offended.”

“That wasn’t actually directed at you.” 

Sharon pours herself another glass of wine. She’s not drunk in the slightest, but appreciates the action of drinking. Once they had finished eating, Sharon had turned on the gas fireplace  — her father hadn’t wanted to bother with chopping wood  — and now the living room is comfortably warm. With the sound of rain outside and the coziness of the inside, some might consider the atmosphere romantic. 

Romance hadn’t been her intention when she brought Steve over to the couch. It felt rude to kick him out after her drove all this way, and she appreciates his company. She had grown somewhat lonely, holed up in the house with her memories and artifacts from her past. She likes having someone to talk to, and if she’s honest with herself, she likes Steve being that person. But the fact of the matter is she that he is here when she never asked that of him, and she is once again reminded of the elephant in the room  — the  _ whatever _ that is going on between them. 

And that is what drives her to ask, “Steve, what are you doing here? Really. Because Richmond is not on the way back to New York.”

Even as the shadows of the flickering firelight dance across his face, Sharon can see his cheeks flush. He ducks his head and adjusts a pile of photos. “I was worried about you. You sounded so unhappy over the phone these past few days, and since I was near, I thought...I thought you could use a friend.”

Sharon looks away from him, watching the fire. She takes another sip of her wine before asking, “Is that what you’re here as? A friend?”

The question hangs in the air. She gathers her courage to look back at him, and Steve is staring back with the most intense of expressions. “Is that what you want?”

“What I want is an answer to my question, and that isn’t it.”

He inhales deeply, before reaching out and tangling his fingers into her hair.  _ He’s going to kiss me _ , Sharon thinks before he does just that. This kiss isn’t like the first one they shared in Berlin. That one had been sweet, a hint of what could come, but not a promise. This kiss is different. Steve kisses her with desperation, pulling her close and pouring what feels like two years of desire into the touch of their lips. 

They pull apart far too soon. Though Steve can hold his breath for upwards of five minutes, Sharon is only human and their kiss leaves her breathing ragged. He studies her face carefully, his thumb stroking across the curve of her cheek. 

“Does that answer your question?” 

She only has time to nod before he kisses her again, tongue sweeping into her mouth. Sharon thinks she should put a stop to this. It’s unfair to continue to kiss him like this when she isn’t entirely sure where she wants their relationship to go from here. But instead she finds herself reveling in the heat of his kiss and the fire that is igniting her belly.

What she does know is that she wants him, wants this feeling to continue. This is the first time since...since they had been a couple that a man has kissed her and she enjoyed it. The first time in a very long time than hands have roved over her curves and she hasn’t wanted to run away. She feels powerful. She feels like she is on fire. 

And it’s Steve, one of the few people she actually trusts. The one man she knows who would stop if she said so, and that is why she allows him to trail kisses down the column of her neck. It is why she moans his name and snakes her hands under his t-shirt. 

The strip each other bare, not bothering to move from the sofa, both too afraid that it would break the spell that they’re under. He traces every inch of her skin, dropping kisses against every new mark. She comes apart surrounding his fingertips, and it is just how she remembered it to be. He watches her, and all Sharon sees is devotion and wonder and heat. 

She straddles his legs, and everything narrows to the moment they come together. He lets her take control, even as his fingers dig tight into her skin, and Sharon is sure she will have bruises in the morning. He whispers endearments when she moves, breathy yeses and moans of her name. Sharon’s fingers fan out over his chest when she undulates her hips against him. 

When it’s over, long after they’ve cleaned each other up and her body has stopped tingling, Sharon lays in her bed with Steve by her side and wonders if she didn’t just make a huge mistake. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delays. This chapter was exceedingly difficult, I was dreading everyone's reactions, and yeah it was mostly that.

Sharon Carter wishes for many things, but today she wishes for the ability to turn back time. 

Not for the first time, she wishes that she has the ability to turn back the clock and prevent herself from going on that mission, if only so she could once again be the woman from before. The Sharon of the past, the Sharon that had taken Steve’s outstretched hand and betrayed her country, would not be pretending to sleep as he lays awake by her side. She would be turning to him, blearily kissing him good morning and running her hands through his sleep-mussed hair. They would make love again before stumbling into the kitchen. He’d make fun of her bare kitchen, and insist on making breakfast with her remaining eggs. 

It would be beautiful.

But she is not the Sharon of the past. Instead, she had spent the night tossing and turning, doubting and dreading the morning. She spends much of the night questioning why she had slept with him, and then wondering what she wants from him next.

The first question has an easy answer: Sharon had fucked Steve because she had wanted to, because she had wanting to feel something other than anger or fear or sadness. She had wanted a human connection, to feel adored. She wanted a new memory of a man’s hands on her skin and she wanted that man to be Steve Rogers.

But where does she go from here?

For that she has no answer. 

She knows what Steve wants. He wants to rekindle whatever they had been before she had disappeared. He wants some control over his life, and for something beautiful to come out of his failure. And that’s horrifying. 

She had told Natasha ages ago that she couldn’t be that for someone, not while she’s trying to figure herself out. If somewhere were to ask Sharon who she thinks she is, she still wouldn’t know what to say. What she does know is that she doubts her ability to figure that out while carrying out a romance with Steve. She can’t worry about herself while worrying about him. She had tried that before, and it had almost gotten her killed. 

Even worse, Sharon cannot separate the past from the present. unable to separate what had occured between them from everything that had happened before. If she had just escaped on her own, instead of Thanos taking out half the universe, would Sharon have come to him? Would be relying on him emotionally the way she is now? Would he? Would he be so intent on pursuing her if he didn’t also have Sam or Bucky or Wanda by his side?

She doesn’t know the answer to any of those questions either. Whis means she has  Sharon knows she is about to do the one thing that Nakia had warned her against. 

She has to break his heart, even if it shatters hers in the process.

 

-/-

 

“What happened last night was a mistake,” she tells him once she has gathered her courage and her clothes, “we weren’t in a good headspace. We were just trying to fill a void, to feel something, anything that wasn’t grief.”

“Is that what you think?” He is more incredulous than hurt, that much Sharon can tell. 

“That’s what I feel.”

“And I feel like that’s bullshit.” 

His choice of words surprises her. Natasha had told her once that he used to correct everyone’s language. How things have changed. 

“You don’t get to tell me what to feel.”

“I’m not...I’m not trying to tell you what to feel. I’m telling you that pushing me away isn’t the answer to whatever else you’re feeling.” Steve sighs, and rakes a hand through his hair. “I’ve been down this road before. This isn’t the first time I’ve lost almost everything before, remember? And having people that care about you around makes it so much easier to push forward.”

“This is absolutely not the same thing as waking up from the ice, Steve.”

“Isn’t it?” He asks. He reaches out to take her hand. As much as she doesn’t want to, she lets him. “You disappear, and you come back and everything has changed. The only difference I see is that the people who cared about you haven’t moved on.”

“And that’s the problem!” Sharon snaps. Sharon jerks away from him, unable to take the touch of his hand any longer. Steve has the grace to not look hurt. “You haven’t moved on. You’re treating me like we can just pick up like we did before, and we can’t. God, Steve, we were a disaster. I left!”

“And I was going to come back for you. When you got back from your mission, I was going to find you. I was going to apologize.”

“It doesn’t matter what you intended to do because you didn’t.”

“Because I thought you were dead,” he argues, voice stricken. Now, he looks hurt, and she realizes that he thinks she’s blaming him for the past. “Sharon, you have to believe that if I had any idea that you were alive, I would have gone after you.” 

“That’s not the point. I’m not blaming you for that. I promise.” His expression softens. She wishes that she were more eloquent, that she could easily explain why the past both matters and doesn’t in a way that he might understand. “My point is that you look at me like I’m the woman who walked away, and I’m not that person anymore. Too many things have happened. I’ve gone through too much. I don’t even know who I am anymore, but I’m not the same person I used to be.”

“I don’t understand why that means last night was a mistake,” Steve says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Because ever since I’ve come back to America, I’ve been relying on you.” She turns away from him, unable to see the emotion in his eyes. “You’re who I call when I’m stressed or scared. You’re the person I turn to when I’m overwhelmed.”

“That’s called being in a relationship.”

“That’s the point. We’re not in a relationship.” Sharon takes a deep breath, and tries her best to will the tears away. She fails. “Steve, before I went on my mission, I left you. And that was almost two years ago. We’re not in a relationship. The way I see it, we’re two people who suffered an insane amount of trauma and are falling on old patterns and feelings.” 

“Speak for yourself,” he scoffs.

“I am speaking for myself.” She wipes away at her eyes, before turning to face him again. Her chest clenches when she notices the glassiness in his own eyes. “When you look at me, I see someone looking for hope. And I can’t be that. I can’t be that for you. I can’t even be that for me.”

“You really believe that.” A statement, not a question. She watches the set of his jaw as he looks toward the ceiling. He takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to reign in his emotions. “I won’t force you into anything you don’t want. And I know I can’t change your mind.”

She shakes her head. “No.”

They don’t say much more after that. The fight had seemingly gone out of him, a rarity for Captain America.  _ You did that to him, _ Sharon thinks, and it only makes her hate herself a little more. 

Steve collects his things in short order. Before leaving, he turns to look back at her. Sharon wants to shrink away from the intensity of his gaze, but holds resolute.

“I never intended to make you feel like a replacement for everyone. I want you to know that.”

Sharon doesn’t say anything, only nods. 

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do.”

And then he’s gone.

 

-/-

 

She cries. She packs boxes. She wants nothing more than to call Steve and tell him she made a terrible mistake, that she misses him. 

She doesn’t.

He doesn’t reach out either, and Sharon can’t tell if she loves or hates him for that. 

“I broke his heart,” Sharon tells Nakia over a holocall.

Her friend is unsurprised, but sympathetic. “You’re free to come to Wakanda if you would like someplace to clear your head. We could always use more help.”

Sharon promises to consider it. She’s already made one rash decision recently, and recognizes that she should weigh her options and not rush into anything next. Besides, after turning down Steve, Sharon is sure if she bolted to another continent, others might question her mental state and decision-making, friendship with Nakia be damned. 

“You’ll tell me if you need anything,” Nakia tells her before the call ends. Her voice is laced with concern. 

“I’m fine.” 

“And I’m a gazelle,” Nakia replies flatly. “You have people in your corner. No matter who you think you are or aren’t or what you think you deserve or don’t deserve. Don’t forget that.”

 

-/-

 

Natasha arrives a week later bearing a suitcase full of clothes and a few knick-knacks Sharon has accumulated over the near year she had spent in New York. There’s not a lot, only enough things to fill a suitcase a few small boxes. 

“Thank you, but I could have gotten some of the stuff on my own,” Sharon says as she helps Natasha haul the boxes into the house.    


She doesn’t know if she will stay in Richmond, but she knows she can’t go back to living in such close corners to Steve. Sharon had been warned that setup couldn’t last forever. She had hoped it could last at least a year, but she had messed that one up. 

“And let you and Steve out-sad one another in the hallway? Trust me, this is the better option,” Natasha replies. Dropping the boxes in the entryway, she walks over and collapses on the couch. “You going to tell me what exactly happened?”

“I’m surprised you don’t know.”

“Oh, I know his side of the story. I want to know yours.” 

“How is he?” Sharon asks, because she’s honestly concerned. She misses him, the jokes he would send her and the strings of conversations they would have. But this is what she wanted, what she needed. “I know I have no right to ask, but is he okay?”

“I mean, he’s about as okay as you’d expect for a guy whose best friends all died, and then the woman he was in love with fucked him, then kicked him out of her house.” Natasha answers. Sharon winces. Natasha has never been one to pull her punches, not in sparring and certainly not with words. And even though Natasha and Sharon are friends, there’s no denying that the Avengers were closer. “He’ll live. It’s not like it’s the worst thing he’s been through. If I weren’t friends with you both, I probably would have punched you in the face though.”

“I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“I know.” Natasha adjusts herself so she’s setting more upright. “But there’s no way you were getting out of this without hurting him. Not that you should have continued whatever you were doing to make him happy, but you probably shouldn’t have slept with him. Was he really that bad?” 

“Not funny.” Sharon joins Natasha on the couch and buries her face in her hands. “I fucked up, I know.”

“Both literally and figuratively.” Natasha smirks when Sharon shoots her a glare. Her expression softens somewhat when she says, “You’re entitled to do whatever you need, but are you sure this is what you want?”

“I don’t know,” Sharon answers. She still misses him. He’s invaded her dreams, visions of him and the camp blending together in a nightmare. Only, this time, she can’t badger him after or coax Steve into sparring or continuing down his list of movies to clear her head.  “But that’s why I had to do it. I can’t...he needs someone who is unquestionably all-in and I can’t be with someone when I am too far in my head. How do I know if I’m getting better or progressing or literally anything if he right there by me holding my hand? How can I know that’s me?”

“You can’t and that’s terrifying.Trust me, I understand,” Natasha answers, and if anyone would, it’s the Black Widow. Outside of Clint, Natasha had a reputation of keeping mostly to herself for years. “But, I’ve also learned that it’s okay to lean on people.”

Sharon raises a brow. “Are you trying to convince me that I made a mistake?”

“I’m not. I swear. If you think this is what’s best for you, I support you even if it means one of closest friends is hurting,” Natasha emphasizes in such a way that Sharon understands that she is telling the truth. “I’m just checking in to see if this is what you want and not a decision I’m making because you’re scared.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Intimacy can be horrifying after a trauma.” An expression crosses across Natasha’s face. A memory. Natasha has suffered more trauma than most, so she knows. But that doesn’t mean that Sharon likes her friend projecting the issues she might have  on her. Sharon isn’t Natasha. 

“I’m not scared. That has nothing to do with it,” Sharon says. Even as she says it, Sharon knows it sounds like a lie. “It doesn’t.”

“Okay,” Natasha replies, and it’s equally clear that she doesn’t believe her. “Changing the subject, if you’re not coming back to the compound, what are you doing? Because if I’m going to be selfish, I’m not happy to see you go.”

“Just because I can’t be in New York, it doesn’t mean I am quitting helping people or avoiding you. Case in point, now. I just need to clear my head and honestly avoid Steve. And, no that is not running away,” Sharon replies. Natasha’s expression can only be described as skeptical. “Seriously, being in Richmond has made me think. At lot of what we’ve done has been in New York or Wakanda, we need people on the ground elsewhere, or someone who is able to do logistics or assist the government in identifying needs. Steve mentioned how the President was wanting more coordination with the Avengers. We need a liaison.”

“This is something you’ve actually thought about.” 

Sharon rolls her eyes at Natasha’s surprise. She’s had a lot of time alone to think recently. “I have. It’s something I want to do, and I might be good at it.”

She’s spent enough time in government to understand how it works. She might have a black mark against her name for running away with Steve, but that’s all been forgiven. Now, they can’t afford to lose good people. She has some relationships in government, and she’s watched what Nakia and the Wakanda government have done. It will allow her to still be effective in helping people, but in her own space. Maybe that’s what she needs.

Natasha studies her carefully, before nodding. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“It’s smart. We have allies in Wakanda and Carol going around space, but we don’t have a person in our own capitol. It’s logical.” Natasha falls into a tactical mindset like it’s as easy as breathing. It’s why she was considering one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s best agents. “You’ll need to check in, of course, but you’re already able to holocall. Are you going to stay here? It’s a bit of a haul to Washington.”

Sharon sighs. “I don’t intend to. If I am going to do this, I need to do it there. Besides, this place has too many ghosts. And, hey, I hear the housing marketing in DC has tanked.”

“That’s dark, Sharon.” Her voice in flat, but Natasha manages a smile. “You know I am going to miss you, right?”

“I’ll only be a call away. And nothing is stopping you from coming to Washington every now and then.” But something might prevent me from coming to New York, Sharon thinks. Natasha, thankfully, holds her tongue. “Thanks for coming, by the way.”

“What are friends for?”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Sharon starts her new career path and sees Steve again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was significantly less stressful to write than the previous one, but still a little sad. I wanted to be sure I got it posted before I went on vacation next week. I hope y'all enjoy.

Returning to life in Washington is strange.

As with everywhere else, it is a shell of its former glory. She can find a seat on the train during the morning rush hour, the Mall is bereft of tourists in matching t-shirts, and restaurants that had lines out the door are now boarded up. Most of the friends she had back then moved in the aftermath of S.H.I.E.L.D falling or were snapped. Sharon actually finds comfort in the familiarity of metro delays. At least that hasn’t changed. 

Even worse, because it has been years since she last lived here, her memories are tied up with Steve and S.H.I.E.L.D. and everything she worked for crashing into the Potomac. Perhaps that is why Sharon opts for an apartment far from her old place near Logan Circle, settling for a luxury apartment building near the Southwest Waterfront. When showing her the apartment, the building manager had assured her that the place had no previous tenants. As much as Sharon hated the glut of these new luxury buildings and what they signaled when she first lived in the city, she now appreciates that so many of them have sat empty. 

Fewer ghosts. 

She decorates with photos from Richmond and a few things sent her way. Pepper passes along a few prints of Sharon and Tony from the wedding, and another of Sharon and Natasha laughing at a joke she can no longer remember. Natasha sends her a photo of Bucky and Sam glaring at the camera, one of Wanda in profile somewhere by the water. There’s also a picture of Sharon and Steve that had been taken while neither of them were aware, the two curled up on the couch together. Sharon shoves that one in a box along with the drawing he did of her. 

Work, thankfully, keeps her busy. She spends a fair amount of time in meetings and pouring over the data and reports. The government is still finding its footing with so much institutional knowledge lost. Despite there being fewer people to serve, the ones left over have greater needs. They triage as best as they are able, focusing on the slowdown of food production and the increased need of familial support. Sharon relays the information to Natasha, informing her where she and Steve would be most needed. It’s a smooth endeavor. 

On her downtime, she volunteers with food shelters. She goes running at the Mall, and takes evening strolls around the Tidal Basin. She actively avoids the site of the Trisk, but every now and then she finds herself passing by the apartment building she shared with Steve, no matter how out of the way it is. She tries her best to support local restaurants. She shops small, and binges the television shows on Netflix shows that she had missed. 

All and all, it is fine. Too bad Sharon is unbelievably lonely.  


 

-/-

  


Morgan Stark is born three weeks before the anniversary of the Decimation.

She is small and red with a smattering of dark hair. Tony sends her pictures periodically, requesting that she fly up to visit. It’s a two weeks before Sharon feels like she can spare the time. 

“You know, if someone told me five years ago that you would be living in a cabin in the woods, married, and with a kid, I would have assumed you were doing some elaborate reality TV show,” Sharon says when she sees him again. He looks much healthier than he did at his wedding, and somehow even happier. 

“Washington has made me you mean.” That doesn’t stop Tony from pulling her into a tight hug, before insisting she meet Morgan that instant.

So she does, with Tony placing his daughter into Sharon’s arms as if Morgan is somehow the most precious cargo in the planet. And to Tony, she absolutely is. Sharon doesn’t have much experience with babies, and there’s a slight terror in holding something so small and helpless and important. 

“You’re doing great.” Pepper must notice her fear, and Sharon finds her words only mildly comforting. “Babies are surprisingly resilient.”

“But, you know, don’t drop her if you can help it,” Tony adds, earning an eye roll from Sharon and smack on the shoulder from his wife.

Morgan is impossibly light, to the point that Sharon thinks it is wild that something so tiny can mean so much. Tony looks at Morgan as if she is the sun, and rattles off milestones like weight and length as if she had just qualified for the Olympics. _Were my parents like this?_ Sharon wonders. Their relationship hadn’t been the best in the end, but had they spoken about her with such awe?

It is also amazing to think that after so much loss, Morgan is a sign that life can move forward and make something beautiful. 

The cynical side of Sharon, the one who has spent her entire adult life working for governments in some capacity, also recognizes how important it is for people to carry own and reproduce. The wonks in Congressional offices are discussing and debating ways to incentivize family growth in the wake of mass population loss. How else does a country come back from such great population losses? She refrains from telling Tony any of this. Instead, she smiles and coos over Morgan, asks Pepper how she feels, and compliments both she and Tony what they’ve done with the place. 

Later, after the sun had gone down and while Tony and Pepper are carrying out a bedtime routine, Sharon finds herself sitting in one of the chairs Tony had set up by the lake. She watches as the moonlight reflects off of the blackness of the lake, and looks up to admire the stars. DC is too bright to see the stars properly. She had grown accustomed to seeing them again at the compound, but it isn’t until now that she realizes how much she misses them. 

She takes a sip of her beer and tries to count the constellations. She’s never been able to put them to memory. Astronomy has never been her thing. Long ago, Steve had tried to teach her, sketching out the shapes to help her along, but all she really remembers are the obvious -- Orion and the Dippers. 

 _“In a different world, I think I would have liked to be an astronaut,”_ he’d told her then. They had laid out in the grass in Wakanda, fingers intertwined. _“Walk on the moon. Travel the stars.”_

_“What’s stopping you now?”_

_“Well, there’s the fact that there’s a warrant out for my head. That’s a big one. But, I don’t know, there always seems to be a fight on. Always in the way of any other plans I might have.”_

_“Oh, and what are those other plans?”_

_“Well, first of all, there’s this diner back home in Brooklyn…”_

He’d been to outer space since they had shared that conversation. He’d taken her to that diner in Brooklyn, too. Sharon is sure neither event went down the way he expected or had hoped. A lot has happened since that night that neither had expected. Some things they couldn’t control. Others, well...there’s a reason she’s out here alone. 

_You have no one but yourself to blame, Sharon._

A snap of twig pulls Sharon away from her memories, and she jerks to look in the direction of the noise. She relaxes when she sees Tony approaching her, water bottle and baby monitor in hand. 

“Calm down, Jamie Bond, it’s just me,” he says as he crosses his land to join her. He sits down with a flourish in typical fashion. “You know, don’t get these views in the city. Malibu, New York City, a person wouldn’t know how many stars there were.”

Sharon huffs out a laugh, “I was just thinking that.”  

“Really? Because you seemed rather broody,” Tony replies. He smirks, “Now, I know why I’d be broody looking at the stars, considering I nearly died in outer space. But you? This is supposed to be a peaceful thing for people like you.”

“People like me?” Sharon asks before taking a drink from her beer. 

“People who have never been to space, duh.” 

His answer almost has her snorting out her beer. “Fuck, Tony.”

“Hey, language. There is a baby on premises. I don’t want you soiling my newborn’s ears” He waves the baby monitor in her face. 

“First of all, language? You aren’t Steve.” Even the mention of his name has her stomach turning from guilt. She moves on. “Second of all, the baby is in her nursery in the house that is at least thirty feet away. So trust me when I say ‘calm the fuck down’. And third, your curse like a sailor. I’m not the one who’s gonna teach her dirty words. That will all be on you.”

“That’s offensive. Washington _has_ turned you mean.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I cannot believe you just compared me to Steve. Have you no shame?” Tony asks in mock-offense. Sharon only rolls her eyes. She is surprised when his expression turns serious. “And since we’re on the topic of everyone’s favorite Capsicle — thank you for being the one to bring him up — be honest with me: what happened there?”

“Nothing,” she says, even when her blood runs cold. She turns away from him, and looks back out at the water. Suddenly it appears ominous in the blackness of the night. _Warning: here be dragons. Danger lies ahead!_

“Did he do something? Did he call out Barnes’ name in bed? Because I have this theory—“

“Tony,” Sharon warns, her voice low. She won’t even deign to touch his insinuation about Bucky, but the rest of it has her wishing for something stronger than the beer in her hand. “Why are you suddenly so concerned with anything happening between me and Steve?”

“I don’t know, Shar. You tell me,” he replies, his tone indicating her does know and is somewhat insulted she would ask. “From where I’m standing — sitting in this case — you seemed pretty happy in New York. At least, that’s what you told me, and I’d like to think you wouldn’t lie to me about that. Suddenly, you’re announcing you’re picking up and moving to DC, starting over with a new job, far away from all of your friends, no warning. Sounds to me like you’re running away from something, and since I don’t think our favorite Russian assassin is the cause, my guess it’s because of America’s favorite World War II relic.” 

“I don’t think you have the high ground in lecturing me about running away, Tony.” It’s a low blow with all of the meanness that Tony jokes she picked up from DC. It’s probably a little unfair too, but she bristles at how easily he had jumped to the conclusion that Steve is the reason she moved away. She chafes at the implication that she left — ran away — because of a bad break up. It’s so much more than that. 

“See you’re lashing out. And I know what you’re doing, because like you said, I don’t have the high ground. I’m pretty sure I could write a thesis on running away from problems and self-destructing.”

“How the hell am I self-destructing?” She snaps, irritated. “I moved back to a city where I used to live. I got a new job I’m pretty good at. I’m not relying on people or a boyfriend to move on with my life. Isn’t a part of the recovery process? Re-establishing yourself?”

They both fall quiet, the only sounds to be heard those of natural life and their breathing. Tears sting at the corner of her eyes, and Sharon wipes them away. She considers getting up and leaving, but that would only prove Tony’s point. Instead, she chooses to not speak and to rein in her emotions. She realizes that she should have expected some sort of inquisition, but she had hoped that the baby would prove to be a distraction. Apparently, even Morgan Stark isn’t that cute.

“I’ll admit self-destructing is a poor choice of words. I am proud of you for coming up with the liaison gig, if I hadn’t said that already. Really. And it’s good that you moved to DC if you’re happy. I remember the first go around you liked it there,” Tony says finally. She can tell he means it, but she also senses a ‘but’ hanging in the air. He doesn’t disappoint. “But I’m just a little surprised you moved down there solo, that’s all.”

“Romanoff hates Washington.”

“You’re funny, but we both know I wasn’t talking about her.” So much for her attempt at deflection. “So are you going to tell me what happened? Because I’m not above badgering Romanoff to find out, because she’s sneaky and knows stuff.”

Which means he already knows what happened because he already called Natasha demanding to know, probably shortly after she told him her plans. She’s irritated with the way everyone seems to be talking behind her back. Steve and Natasha. Natasha and Tony. Everyone coming to conclusions about what she should or should not do. 

“For someone so sneaky, she leaks like a sieve.”

“It’s almost like the people in your life care about you.” 

“Since when did you care about my relationship with Steve? I know why Natasha cares, they’re also close friends. But you? You two barely tolerated each other in the end. Shouldn’t you be happy I’m going off on my own and not relying on him?” 

Tony looks down at the baby monitor in his hands. He studies it carefully. “It took me a long time to realize this, and I hurt a lot of people before I did. The bullshit I put Pepper through...why she puts up with me, I don’t know. I sure as hell don’t deserve it.  But going to hell and back, I learned something: it’s not a weakness to rely on other people when you’re down. It sometimes makes you stronger.” 

A baby’s cry tends from the monitor, and Tony frowns. 

“You should go check on her. Didn’t you promise Pepper that you’d take the first shift?”

“Yeah, I did.” He stands, and studies her carefully, as if he’s waiting for her to say something more or to offer to come along. She doesn’t. He sighs deeply and shakes his head. Before he leaves, he says, “At the end of the day, I want you to be happy. I don’t care who with or how. Maybe this is it, you’re the only one who knows for sure.”

He presses a kiss to her head before he goes. She doesn’t watch him leave, instead focuses on the water. She wishes she had brought a blanket to ward off the chill in her bones. It likely wouldn’t do any good, but it would give her something to hold onto. 

Though they won’t outright say it, Sharon realizes that her friends more or less believe that she made a mistake in pushing Steve away. Her hopes of at least Tony understanding have been dashed. Under different circumstances, she might have blamed this turn on baby-crazed psychosis, a side-effect of the lack of sleep, but she knows that’s not it. Attributing Tony’s concern to anything else would only be willful ignorance on her part. 

But where does that leave her? Feeling even more alone with her thoughts as the rest of the world moves forward. 

 

-/-

 

Sharon considers leaving earlier than expected. She had promised Tony that she would stay the week, up until they are needing in Washington for the memorial event to honor the dead; but now she’s feeling a little bit hurt and raw from her conversation that first night with Tony. What keeps her in the cabin is that she knows if goes, Tony will only take it as further evidence that she’s running away. He would, in response, probably stage an intervention, something she desperately wants to avoid. 

Instead she puts on a happy face, and waves Tony off when he inquires if she’s still mad. Mad isn’t the term she would us, but he doesn’t need to know how she’s entirely feeling other than confused. 

And envious — but that has nothing to do with her earlier talk, and everything to do with the way Tony and Pepper move  seamlessly around one another. They can anticipate the other’s needs, and support one another when it comes to caring for Morgan. They have a ridiculous amount of fun in the kitchen. 

Sharon wonders, not for the first time, if she could have that. The life of a spy did not lend itself to the typical family, but neither do the lives of a CEO (who works remotely) and a former superhero. In Tunisia, she had given up hope of escaping and having that kind of a family. As for now?

 _You could have had that,_ a traitorous part of her mind reminds her. 

As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, Tony might have been right about one thing: if she had wanted to move to Washington with Steve, he probably would have gone. He had done everything she had asked of him before — taken her calls and drawn her pictures and fucked her when she wanted him. He had even left when she demanded he go. 

If before, if she had told him what she wanted to do in Washington, if she had told him she wanted him there, he would have agreed. Sharon has no doubt about that. The reality is, however, is that she wouldn’t have decided to go with him, far too concerned about keeping the team together and him happy. 

Would she have made the jump with him to catch her?

The answer is almost certainly no. 

 

-/-

 

On the one year anniversary of the Snap, a memorial ceremony is held in Washington to honor the dead. Tony waffles on attending, much to Sharon’s chagrin. Pepper finally convinces him to go, but it is a close thing requiring Happy to stay at the cabin and Pepper promising to check in often. Sharon privately doubts Pepper will check in as often as Tony wants, his wife is a capable woman, but she doesn’t tell him that. Instead, Sharon boards one of his jets and sits attempting to read while Tony broods.

Neither of them really talk much, too caught up in their own heads thinking about the anniversary and everything it means. For Tony, the day signifies his greatest failure, for Sharon it was her salvation. She can’t be happy knowing everything that had been lost. She wonders how the others feel. 

Most of the remaining Avengers have confirmed attendance to the memorial. This might be the first time they’ve all been together since the mission to kill Thanos, and even then, Tony had been left behind. She recalls the confrontation between Steve and Tony the last time they had been together. She hopes that they’re better able to hold it together in front of the crowd, but she also knows emotions will be at an all time high.

In short, she half-expects it to be a shitshow. 

Rhodey meets them at National Airport. He greets them both, and asks Tony if he has any more pictures of Morgan to show off. This puts Tony at ease as he flips through photo after photo on his phone. Rhodey shares a bemused look with Sharon. 

Together, the three of them head to the site of the President’s speech. Rhodey wears his dress uniform, and Sharon had changed into a nice suit on the plane — her white tac suit seems  ill-fitting for the situation. Tony, however, opts to attend in his full suit of armor. Neither she nor Rhody argue otherwise. 

A text from Natasha informs her that she, along with Steve, Thor, Nebula, and the raccoon, are already present. Bruce Banner is on his way. She is somewhat eager to see Nebula again, but a ball of dread knots in her belly at the thought of seeing Steve again. This will be her first time encountering him since they had parted on bad terms. 

They meet in a holding tent before the start of the event. Thor is jubilant when he sees them walk in, shouting “Tony!” loudly before surging forward to pull him into a hug. Sharon steps to the side, but even from a short distance she can smell the booze he has been drinking. Sharon had heard rumors, of course, indicating that he hasn’t dealt with Thanos’ victory well. From her vantage point, she can tell he’s put on a little bit of weight on top of the aforementioned smell of booze. Her heart hurts for him. 

As Tony talks to Thor, awkwardly patting him on the back, Sharon further side steps out of the way to join Natasha. Steve is with her, but Sharon decides rather than avoid him, she’ll instead rip off the proverbial bandaid. It will be better this way. 

“Hey.” Her eyes flick from Natasha to Steve. Natasha smiles and nods, reaching out to give her hand a squeeze. 

“Sharon,” Steve greets, his tone mirroring the one he used when he called her ‘Neighbor’ all of those years ago, devoid of any of the warmth she had grown to love. That stings, but isn’t this what she wanted?

“How was hanging out in a log cabin with Tony and a baby?” Natasha asks, playing the peacemaker. 

“Relaxing, for the most part. Morgan’s incredibly cute, even when she’s crying, but I’m not the one changing most of the diapers,” Sharon says, thankful for the safe topic of conversation. “I’m sure if you bug him, he’ll give you a slideshow presentation of her cutest moments.” 

Steve smiles, but it disappears as quickly as it had appeared, almost as if he’s afraid of being caught positively reacting to her or a story about Tony. That hurts too, but Sharon tries not to dwell on it. Today isn’t the day for it. 

“How have things been at the compound?” Sharon inquires. 

“Quiet,” Steve answers. He doesn’t quite meet her eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Bruce Banner arrive. With a politeness that Sharon believes would be impossible to beat out of him, Steve gives a curt nod. “If you will excuse me, Sharon, I’m going to catch up with Bruce.”

She watches him go, and schools her face into something neutral. She supposes this what she deserves. She is the one who broke his heart, but she doesn’t enjoy seeing him like this. She misses his easy smiles and the way his face would light up whenever she enters the room. This is a harsh awakening. 

“It could be worse,” Natasha says once Steve is out of earshot. Sharon has a difficult time imagining just what worse could be.

 

-/-

 

Worse is the memorial. 

Steve gives a touching speech. He takes on the Captain America persona, the fearless leader, the symbol, a representative of the Dream. The crowd cannot see it, but from her vantage point on the stage, she can see the way his handle tremble when he speaks. She wants to reach out and comfort him, but knows she cannot. 

He is unable to finish his speech, because everything goes to hell. 

“Why are you even here? Why do you want to see us?” Thor’s voice cuts out, overwhelming Steve’s words. Steve falls hush, and all attention turns to the God of Thunder. Beside her, Tony begins to move, but she grabs his arm, willing him to stay put. No good will come from interference. She is, however, surprised when he listens. “Don’t you see that we failed? That the entire reason we’re having this forsaken memorial is because we couldn’t save them? You should be hating us. Not listening to whatever we have to say. What we say? It doesn’t matter, because we failed them all.”

Then Thor marches off the stage. The crowd murmurs, and Steve attempts to calm them by finishing his prepared words. It doesn’t work, and the already morose mood is shaken. Worst of all, Sharon isn’t sure she can completely blame Thor for snapping. 

After everyone clears off the stage, tensions ignite to an all time high. 

“Where the hell is he?” Tony shouts. 

“Probably drinking himself into further liver damage,” Rhodey mutters. He says it low enough that Sharon is sure only she can hear. She doesn’t find the joke funny, but holds her tongue. 

The raccoon, Nebula, and Banner offer to go in search for him. No one stops them, leaving Tony, Rhodey, Sharon, Steve, and Natasha. Sharon waits for a snippy comment from Tony that never comes. Instead, he sighs and retracts his armor. “This was a mistake.”

Much to Sharon’s surprise, Steve doesn’t argue. He stands silent and as still as a statue. _So much for positive PR and goodwill._

“Where does that leave us now?” Rhodey asks. She’s sure it will take some time to find Thor. They don’t have any after-memorial events, thankfully. 

“I am going to go home and see my wife and kid,” Tony announces. “I would say it was nice catching up with all of you, but...yeah it wasn’t. Honestly, and all that.” He turns to Sharon. “Do you need a ride back to your place.”

“I’m a big girl. I can get home,” she says. She wants to check in on Steve, and going with Tony will prevent that. She gives him a solid hug goodbye, and watches him leave. Rhodey plays the loyal friend and joins him.

An uncomfortable silence falls between the remaining three. Steve’s expression remains unreadable. 

“Are you—“ Sharon begins, only to be cut off by Steve.

“While I’m here, I am going to visit Arlington. Pay my respects.”

“Do you want someone to join you?” Sharon asks. She’s worried about him. He carries so much guilt and grief on those broad shoulders. She wonders if he’s talked to anyone after she made him leave.

His response is quick, but wooden. “No.”

Defeat washes over her. A few months ago, he had been her closest friend. Now, she thinks being strangers might be an improvement over this. 

“This is what you wanted,” Natasha reminds her.

It takes everything she has not to scream.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon attempts to develop a supporting cast, goes for a run, and gets a salad.
> 
> She also talks to Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back from my vacation with a new chapter. It's a wonder what 11 hours each way in plane rides can do. ;)

_Time heals all wounds._

Sharon is not sure of who or what originated the phrase, but it’s something she holds onto as the days turn into weeks. She falls into a comfortable pattern in the city, and begins to appreciate the opportunities it offers in comparison to her time in New York at the compound. The compound had been a safe bubble for her, isolated away from the rest of the world. She had been surrounded by a unique set of individuals, ones mostly familiar with her life. T

She doesn’t have that safety net in Washington. It forces her to fly or crash. She can blend in with the crowd. Only a very small few know her business, and even fewer ask. The seasoned spy in her appreciates the anonymity, but she cannot deny that she misses her friends. Natasha comes down every so often. They pour over briefing and reports over bottles of wine and absolutely do not mention Steve Rogers. Sharon sees him every now and then whenever the president wants to trot out Captain America for some positive press, but they remain cordial. Sharon pretends it doesn’t break her heart. She attempts to coax Nakia into visiting the United States, but Wakanda needs her now more than ever, so their conversations are limited to holocalls.

In an attempt to socialize more, she waves to the few residents in her building. She meets a few others for drinks after work at a bar near what had been the former Nats Park. Happy hour doesn’t have the same bustling energy as it had before. No longer are the restaurants full of twenty-somethings rubbing elbows in hopes of scoring the next big gig, but instead the atmosphere is morose, humans attempting to find connection in the wake of tragedy.

“I’m lucky,” says the woman, Cassandra, who lives two floors down. “My parents, my sister…hell, my grandmother even made it through. My job survived –“

“Good for fucking you,” comments Nate, who had worked in marketing for the Washington Capitals. While she had been in captivity, the team had apparently won the Stanley Cup. Now they, along with every major league team, are defunct. Sharon recalls him saying that he bartends at a place near Dupont Circle. Tonight is his night off. “That was the worst of all humble brags, you know that right?”

“Survivor’s Guilt is a hell of a drug,” Sharon comments before taking a drink of her beer. She thinks of the gun to her head, and how the man holding it had turned to ash. She thinks of Steve and Natasha, and they way they struggle under the weight of their failure.

Nate’s eyes narrow, as he circles his drink. “Guess there was one good thing about being single when it happened. Don’t have to think about the guilt with that.” 

“I can’t tell if that makes you sound like a pig or not,” Cassandra comments, rolling her eyes. 

“What’s piggish would be saying that survival sex is great.”

Nate’s gaze flicks over to Sharon, assessing her reaction. She pretends not to notice his appraisal. In another world, she might have gone home with him. He’s handsome enough, but he’s not Steve Rogers. The fact that she’s even thinking that tells her that entertaining anything would be a terrible idea. Besides, if she’s going to fall back in bed with anyone it would be…not him.

They talk some more, their conversations never drifting far from the Decimation. She supposes it’s the one thing that unites them all, but it all feels a little hollow. Sharon finds herself missing Natasha and Steve, how easily they could talk about anything but that. The specter of loss was always there, but hadn’t they been able to joke about burger indexes and stupid movies?

The topic of her career comes up, but she evades. “Executive Branch, recovery and whatnot.”

They accept it, and Sharon is thankful. She doesn’t know where to begin with broaching the topic of the Avengers, nor does she want to deal with her questions. She had done the same thing with her work at S.H.I.E.L.D. and the CIA when she had attended happy hours in the days of olde, but she had felt less lonely then. At the end of the day, she could still fall back on nights at the bar with Natasha, Maria Hill, and even Bobbi Marsh. 

She goes home alone to her empty apartment and goes straight to her bedroom to retrieve a box under the bed. She studies the photograph she had hid there, the one of her and Steve. Despite everything, they looked happy in the picture, the opposite of what she is feeling down.

“God, I really messed us up,” she whispers as she traces the edge of the photo. She realizes now that she no longer just misses him, but she wants to fix it. She doesn’t know how.  
  


-/-

  
  
A mother and daughter move in at the end of the hallway. She never sees a man, and on the rare occasion she notices what is clearly a babysitter on certain afternoons. Sharon introduces herself one morning when they both share the elevator. She learns the woman’s name is Kathryn, and Sharon nearly dies from the irony when she learns her neighbor is a nurse at GW. Sharon takes note of the wedding and engagement rings on a chain around the other woman’s neck, a clear sign that she has lost someone. Sharon doesn’t pry. 

She and Kathryn remain on friendly terms, but they don’t hang out, which is why Sharon is shocked when she shows up at her door frantic. 

“My sitter came down with food poisoning, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving Maggie alone. I’ll pay you, I’ll do anything, but please cane you watch over her?”

Sharon privately thinks Maggie looks old enough to watch herself, but knows better than to comment upon another woman’s parenting.

“No worries, it’s fine,” Sharon says instead, because the rest of her night was going to be spent binging _The West Wing_ and wishing Steve were here to wax about the wonderful nature of the Bartlet administration. Kathryn thanks her profusely before leaving

Maggie is a quiet kid, though Sharon can’t help but wonder if it is a natural personality trait or a result of the trauma from the past year. Sharon heats up a frozen pizza while the kid sits and reads her book, _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_. Kathryn had promised that Maggie would be a good kid, but the silence lingers and Sharon knows she will have to engage the girl somehow. She has, thankfully, read the Harry Potter series, which is a point of conversation. She tries to remember what she was obsessed with at age 10, the answer being “ _wanting to be just like Aunt Peggy.”_

“You know, my favorite aunt’s name was Margaret,” Sharon says when she hands Maggie the pizza.

“Was?” Maggie asks, causing Sharon to wince.

“She passed away a few years back.” Even now, saying Aunt Peggy is gone isn’t any easier. She still feels a dull ache in her chest. 

“Before everyone disappeared?” Not for the first time, Sharon wonders what the effects of the Decimation will be on the younger generations. Will they have more resilience than the adults before them?

“Yeah, before.” Sharon ought to have reconsidered the topic of conversation, focused instead on Hogwarts Houses. Thinking of the dead has her appetite gone, but Maggie doesn’t appear perturbed. In fact, she seems happy to chew away at the pizza.

“Why was she your favorite?” 

This, Sharon could answer. “Peggy – that’s what she went by – was just so cool. She fought in WWII and was a spy after. My parents were boring lawyers by comparison.” 

“A spy?” Maggie narrows her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie about my aunt being a spy?”

“Because you’re trying to keep me entertained.”

Fair. Sharon considers her next course of action. “I can prove it. If you promise me that you won’t burn down the apartment between now and me getting back.”

Maggie makes a show of pretending to consider. It’s endearing as hell, and Sharon thinks she might actually like the kid. “Deal.” 

Sharon hurries back to her apartment, searching for a specific photo album that she had liberated from Richmond among her family’s things. She flips through the pages to find a specific photo. _This will impress,_ Sharon thinks. She hurries back Kathryn and Maggie’s apartment, pleased to see that Maggie did not burn it down while she was away. 

“This is my Aunt Peggy.” Sharon hands over the album, and points to the sole woman in the photo. In it, Peggy is surrounded by the Commandos, and flanked by both Bucky and Steve. “You can Google her if you don’t believe me. Peggy Carter.”

Maggie studies the photo carefully before taking out her phone, presumably to run a search on Peggy. Sharon feels quite old as she watches her, as her first cell phone (a Motorola Razr, the height of cool) had come as a graduation present and didn’t have quite the access to internet. She wonders if a kid this age really needs a cell phone, but then again, with her mother working nights, perhaps it makes sense. 

“That’s cool,” Maggie says, as she glances between her phone and the picture. She tilts her head, considering. “Did she really know Captain America?”

“Yeah, they were close, but she did a lot cooler things than know Cap.”

“He was my dad’s favorite. Even when no one else liked him.”

_Oh._

“I’m pretty sure Aunt Peggy would have said that he was her favorite too.” A thought occurs to Sharon. Knowing it would be best to gain confirmation before promising anything, Sharon sneaks out her phone and taps out a message, praying that she didn’t cause such a mess of things that he would ignore this. “What made your dad like him so much?” 

“He said he stood up for what he believed in, even if his friends didn’t like it,” Maggie explains. 

For a brief moment, Sharon is taken back to Aunt Peggy’s funeral, giving the eulogy and praying she could hold everything together to honor her Aunt. “Yeah, he and my Aunt Peggy had that in common.”

“How did she die?” Maggie asks, surprising Sharon with the turn in conversation.

“She was old and sick.”

 “My dad died in a car accident,” Maggie explains. She doesn’t take her eyes off the photo of Peggy and the Commandos. “There’s some people in my class whose parents disappeared, and the teachers all care so much and are extra nice. But since my dad died in a different way, they don’t care as much.”

“I, um, I’m sorry. That has to be hard.” Sharon suddenly feels horribly unequipped to handle the situation. She glances at her phone, hoping to a see message. Nothing. _Sam would know what to say,_ Sharon thinks. Sam would probably say something about talking through your feelings. If Maggie is feeling unheard or uncared, maybe that’s the right option. “Do you want to talk about your dad?” 

“Sometimes, he would pick me up from school as a surprise, and we’d have what he called Daddy/Daughter days. We’d go get cupcakes and race go-carts and play laser tag.” 

“That sounds like a lot of fun.” Aunt Peggy would never let her skip school, but sometimes during the summer she would take Sharon on special outings while her parents worked. It would be just the two of them, even when Uncle Daniel was alive. Sharon cherishes those memories deeply. 

Sharon’s phone buzzes. She grins when she sees the reply. Maggie studies her carefully. Sharon’s expression doesn’t fit the topic at hand.

“You said your dad liked Captain America, right? Do you?”

“Yeah, why?”

Sharon looks at her phone, types out a reply. “Want to talk to him?”

Maggie gives her a skeptical expression. “How would I talk to him.”

“You figured out that Aunt Peggy knew him, but you didn’t ask if I did, which I do.” She places the call. Her breath catches when he answers.

_“Sharon.”_

“Hey, Steve. I’m here with Maggie Taylor, who is a big fan. Mind going on Facetime just so I can prove it’s you?” Sharon takes special delight in watching Maggie’s eyes widen. 

 _“Affirmative.”_ Sharon bites back a laugh when she sees his face. He has on the uniform, leaning in to playing the part she asked of him when she discovered that Maggie’s father had admired him. She hands the phone over to Maggie. “ _Hi Maggie. Nice to meet you.”_

She lets Maggie talk to Steve and wanders into the kitchen to get water and clean up from the mess for pizza. She boxes up the leftovers and smiles to herself when she hears the excitement in Maggie’s voice. After some time, Steve makes an excuse to leave. 

“Thank you,” Sharon says to him. His eyes soften and he gives her a soft smile.

_“Anytime, for a fan as wonderful as Maggie.”_

 

 

-/-

 

 

Something thaws between her and Steve after that. Their relationship is in no way similar to what it had been before Richmond, but he smiles at her more whenever she checks in with the others. It’s one of the stranger dynamics she has been involved in, but it’s better than the radio silence from before. He actually tells her that he’s coming to DC this time, instead of relying on Natasha to do it for him. They don’t make any plans to see each other outside of the meetings they’re already supposed to attend.

 She doesn’t sleep well the night before she’s supposed to see him again. Today is one of the first days they’ll be in the same place without frostiness. She gives up on having a pleasant rest, and decides to go for a run. Restless as she is, it might do her some good. She makes it to the Mall a little after sunrise. The air is cold against her skin in the early morning, but everything else is otherwise pleasant. The Mall is calming at this hour, beautiful with its trees and monuments in the early morning light. Before the Decimation, Sharon would have seen more runners. She only sees one or two people now.

She puts in her headphones and pulls up her favorite playlist and takes off. She sets an intense pace, allowing it and the music to clear her head and push away thoughts of Steve Rogers, mistakes, and what might have been. She’s just passing the Lincoln Memorial when someone darts past her. She would recognize that gait anywhere, not to mention the speed at which the man is running.

He hadn’t told her that he would be arriving to the city so early.

She watches as he runs further away. She doesn’t bother to attempt to speed up. There’s no way she can catch him. She pushes, frustrated and flustered. Part of her considers taking her run elsewhere, but that would be the cowardly exit. Besides, she was here first. Of course, staying also means that Sharon has to weigh whether or not she should acknowledge him. The way Steve is running, he might not have realized that she is here. He is impossible to miss. But her? She’s just another blonde. With that thought, Sharon settles on ignoring him the next time he circles past her.

Unfortunately, Steve doesn’t get the memo. He runs past her, spinning around to face her while jogging backwards. He is directly in her line of vision, so he’s impossible to miss. He waves until she takes out her headphones.

“I didn’t know you ran here in the mornings,” Steve says, his voice sounding more accusatory than he probably intends. “You didn’t before.”

Sharon is confused for a moment, because the Mall is one of her favorite running spots. But then she remembers that she had altered her schedule while spying on him. A nurse couldn’t been seen with her pace, too suspicious. “I went running near the zoo instead. Not too crowded in the mornings.”

“Ah, I hear Red Pandas make for some great spectators.”

“They are, but the prairie dogs can be assholes.”

He laughs, and Sharon realizes how much she has missed that sound. “I have literally never heard anyone say that about prairie dogs.” 

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Yeah, I suppose there is.” He continues his awkward backwards run, quiet as he studies her, looking for the answer to a question Sharon doesn’t know. “How’s Maggie?” 

“She’s fine, I guess. I see her in the hall every now and then. She asks me how you’re doing.” 

“What do you say?” 

“That you’re going to break his neck running backwards like an idiot.”

“Oh this? I can this all day.” He flashes her that wining USO smile, the fake one that doesn’t completely meet his eyes. He looks down at his feet, then back at her. “I won’t keep you from finishing your run. See you later, okay.” 

“Later.”

He laps her twice more. 

 

 

-/-

 

 

Her morning is full of meetings with committees and communication plans. Steve does his usual PR stuff, smiling for the cameras. Sharon knows how much he hates it, but he does a good job of not letting it show. She wonders if the army ever truly realized how lucky they got with Erskine’s choice.

Because her head had been elsewhere in the morning – on the Mall, in Richmond, and far away in Tunisia – Sharon had forgotten to cobble together a lunch. In a period of downtime between meetings, she goes off to one of the more reliable salad places. She sits outside. It feels fine enough with her jacket, and Sharon likes the fresh air. She is halfway through her harvest bowl when she sees Steve Rogers unexpectedly for the second time. 

“I’m starting to think you’re stalking me.”

“Funny, because only one of us has a track record of spying on the other one.”

“I was here first.”

“I might have thought about coming here first, you never know.” He takes the seat opposite of her. She takes a sip of her sweet tea to hide her smile at how absurd he looks in his suit sans mask sitting in the lime green metal seats.

“In all of my many months of spying on you, I never once saw you bring home Sweetgreen. &pizza, District Taco, CAVA…all of those. But no fancy salads.” Sharon stabs at her salad as Steve rolls her eyes. “Which is a shame, because they’re good.”

“I think I could build an Iron Man suit on what it would cost me to have a full meal off those salads.”

 She imagines what Tony would if he heard Steve joking about making an Iron Man suit. Probably something unflattering. “Good thing no one is making you get a salad.”

“They fed me at one of those receptions. Sandwiches and a less fancy salad.” 

 _Which means he’s still hungry,_ Sharon thinks, explaining why he is wandering around outside. _He’s looking for food._ “You know, I would have offered you the rest of this, but then you started off making fun of how much it cost, so I’m not.”

He shakes his head. “Well that’s mean. Giving me hope and taking it all away.” 

She winces at his words. It’s clear he doesn’t mean it the way it comes out, but it draws attention to the elephant between them. She could address it, but doesn’t want to. Steve’s stricken expression indicates he doesn’t want to walk over that landmine either. He’ll let her change the subject if she tries.

She takes another sip of her tea and gathers her courage.

“Sharon, I—“

“I want to apologize for how all of that went down. I wasn’t fair to you at all.” 

Steve’s expression is pure shock, but he schools it into something serious. “You weren’t.”

She appreciates that he’s not pulling punches or hiding how he’s feeling. Perhaps she shouldn’t hide how she feels. “It’s been nice talking to you today. I’ve missed talking to you.” 

He looks into her eyes like he’s trying to assess if she’s telling the truth. “I missed that too…and you.”

“You don’t have to be a stranger, you know. We can talk…like at the Mall and now…about salads”

“You don’t know how much part of me wants that.” He then looks away at the street, watching as the cars drive by. “But Sharon, I have to be honest with you. What happened in Richmond, it didn’t put me in the best of places.” 

“Is that why you’ve barely been able to look me in the eye?”

“It goes both ways, you know.” _Touché._

“I tried at the memorial.”

“Sharon, I did not have the emotional bandwidth to even attempt to hold myself together enough to give that speech and talk to you. I needed to focus on what was most important in that moment.”

“I deserved that.” She pokes at her salad with her fork, now beginning to wonder if she made a mistake in bringing up their mess of a relationship. “So why are you talking to me now? You could have just ignored me while we were running. You didn’t have to sit down.”

“Like I said, I miss you, and I wanted to talk to you again.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He’s cut it since the memorial. “When I saw you today, here and at the Mall. I didn’t want to ignore you anymore.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t. Ignore me, I mean.” she tells him truthfully. He smiles at that.

“I think I’m also glad about that.”

“So where does that leave us going forward?” She wants to laugh at how measured this conversation is, that they’re taking more thought and consideration into talking like friends than when they last had sex.

“I think this means that when we see each other we talk and make eye contact. Then go day-by-day from there.” 

It’s a start.

“I’d like that.”


End file.
